


Advice 2: Wheel of Fortune

by chochowilliams



Series: Advice [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Bashing, Drama, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Male Slash, Original Character Death(s), Romance, m-preg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 65,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Advice". While a rift forms between the Golden Trio, and Harry and Ginny start having premarital problems, Harry and Draco are growing closer. When a Ministry official is assassinated and the prime suspect turns out to be Draco, just how close these ex-rivals have become is revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Advice 2: Wheel of Fortune**  
 **Sequel to:** Advice  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** While a rift forms between the Golden Trio, and Harry and Ginny start having premarital problems, Harry and Draco are growing closer. When a Ministry official is assassinated and the prime suspect turns out to be Draco, just how close these ex-rivals have become is revealed.  
 **Warning:** AU, infidelity, romance, drama, slash, OC character death, bashing, possible OOCness, OCs, m-preg, sexual situations.  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron. Mentioned: past Draco/Astoria, Astoria/OMC, Harry/Ginny, Ginny/Michael Corner  
 **Inserts:** “Wheel of Fortune“, Ace of Base, The Sign, info on strokes taken from Wikipedia, recap from “Advice”  
 **A/N:** Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

What are you gonna tell your dad  
It’s like a wheel of fortune  
And what are you gonna tell your dad  
If this wheel lets you down

My love is my engine  
And you might be fuel  
Stop acting cool  
Just bet you might win  
I’m not too cruel  
(I’m in love with another fool)

-“Wheel of Fortune“, Ace of Base, The Sign

 

* * *

 

**Last Time**

_Malfoy-_

_Though I do not intend to leave Ginny or doing anything that would cause her to leave me, I have taken your advice to heart and have come to realize that what you said does make some semblance of sense. Therefore, I have decided to have a prenuptial agreement drawn up. When I told Ginny, Hermione and the Weaselys of my intentions, they were understandably upset and confused-_

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course not. There goes their cash cow.

_-but I will not back down-_

Draco smirked.

_-especially after I spoke with others in Bannum and heard stories similar to your aunt’s._

_If you could offer your services once more and help me with the prenup, I would be eternally grateful._

_Harry_

Draco sat back and chuckled. It appeared as if Harry Potter was finally beginning to understand how the Wizarding World worked.

He snapped his fingers.

A different house-elf appeared. “Floo Mr. Hedgerow and inform him that I may have found a new client for him.”

The house-elf bowed before vanishing with a pop.

His attorney, Mr. Edward Hedgerow was the best there was. He would make sure that if the Potters’ marriage did fail, God willing, Ginny would be tossed out onto the street with only the clothes on her back- if she were lucky.

Step one. Complete.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER I: Day One**

**A Year Later - Late Morning - Head Auror’s Office - London, England**

Emerald green eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance, anger and disappointment as they took in the older man sitting before him. “No,” was the immediate response from the owner of those eyes, seasoned Auror Harry Potter. There was no hesitation in his decision.

“Excuse me?” His boss, Head Auror Heinin Pieletska, narrowed his midnight blue eyes and leaned forwards over his desk. “What do you mean no?” he demanded to know of one of the Department’s top Aurors.

“Just that, sir,” Harry replied. “I cannot, in good conscience, take this assignment.”

“You’re refusing this assignment.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir, I am.”

A pleasant smile crossed Pieletska’s face as he relaxed back in the chair behind his desk. “Really?”

It was Harry’s eyes that narrowed this time in response to the almost purr of his boss’s voice. “Yes, sir.”

Pieletska continued to look relaxed and pleased with himself as he casually threaded his fingers together over his belly. “You do realize, Auror Potter, rejecting this assignment is grounds for termination, do you not?”

So that was it. He should have known. Pieletska never liked Harry. Pieletska made that perfectly clear from the moment he learned Harry Potter had aspirations of becoming an Auror. And from the moment Harry graduated from Auror Academy, Pieletska has deliberately made Harry’s job difficult if not impossible at times. Harry was continuously stonewalled and/or surrounded by enough red tape to cover the surface of the planet ten times over. It was infuriating to no end.

For whatever reason, the head of the Auror Department adamantly believed that the Ministry purposely turned a blind eye when it concerned one Harry Potter. Pieletska even claimed that Harry’s defeat of You-Know-Who was the result of “a lucky shot” and therefore did not constitute the DMLE ignoring all of the crimes Harry has committed as if they did not exist. Of course, when Pieletska was asked what crimes Harry supposedly committed, Pieletska always changed the subject.

Harry was not sure what Pieletska’s problem with him was, but it felt personal and that confused him because he could not remember ever meeting or hearing about Pieletska before entering the Auror Academy.

“Actually, sir,” Harry refuted with a smirk of his own, “it isn’t.” He sat back in the uncomfortable, wobbly visitor’s chair, trying to look more relaxed than he was. Resting his ankle on the opposite knee, Harry laced his hands around his raised knee. “According to Article V section 1 paragraph three of The Auror Code of Conduct and Regulations, any Auror who refuses an assignment, for whatever reason, is not to be terminated or reprimanded for the refusal,” he paraphrased from memory. Hermione had been proud when he’d memorized the entirety of the manual. “So, no, sir, me refusing this assignment is not grounds for a termination.”

A flash of fury flared in Pieletska’s eyes briefly before the Head Auror was able to school his expression. Harry‘s smirk grew in reaction.

“But you could go ahead and try,” Harry continued. “I’ll just sue you, the Department and the Ministry for unlawful termination.”

Harry did not become one of the Department’s top Aurors by being an idiot, but even an idiot could figure out what was going on here. Pieletska wanted him gone. It was not exactly a secret. Ever since Harry joined the Aurors, Pieletska has been trying to force Harry out and by whatever means necessary.

It seemed Pieletska had decided to switch gears. Since trying to get Harry to quit was not working, Pieletska was now trying to find ways to fire him instead. The man’s first attempt was apparently to deliberately assign Harry a case that he knew Harry would refuse to work. Pieletska’s thinking was that with Harry’s refusal, he would be free to fire Harry. Unfortunately, that was not how it worked.

“We both know this undercover operation is based entirely on baseless accusations that come not from an ‘anonymous tip’ but from you,” Harry accused.

Of course, Harry was bluffing. As sure as he was that Pieletska did not like him, he wasn’t as sure that Pieletska was behind the “anonymous tip” that accused Draco Malfoy of hording illegal Dark artifacts purchased off the Black Market. Though, knowing his boss’s detestation for certain members of Wizarding society for no other reason than his own ignorance and prejudice, which included the Malfoys as well as Harry, the allegation was not so far-fetched, especially when considering Harry‘s newly formed friendship and alliance with Draco.

At Harry’s accusation, though, Pieletska went rigid. It was all the proof Harry needed.

“Everyone is well aware of your--abhorrence for Draco so it’s not such an improbable idea that you would concoct some sort of--situation-”

“Draco Malfoy is a nuisance,” Pieletska interrupted in seething anger. He punctuated his belief by slamming a fisted hand into his desktop.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “How so, sir? Draco is a law-abiding citizen and has been since graduating from Hogwarts. Did you know he tied with ‘Mione as Valedictorian?” he added just because he knew it would irritate Pieletska further. “He donates to local charities, founded The Restoration Fund after the war as well as the first wizarding orphanage in Britain. He’s helped pass several laws that could very well prevent another Voldemort.” Here he smirked internally as Pieletska flinched. “He is a brilliant Potions Master with his own chain of apothecaries and has helped on many of my cases as an expert consultant-”

“He is a Death Eater!”

“Was,” Harry corrected, “and not by choice.”

“Bullshit!”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. Pieletska was not the first, and would not be the last, to not believe the argument that Draco Malfoy’s hand had been forced by the Dark Lord. During the war, Draco did what he had to do in order to not only survive, but to protect his family. It wasn‘t like Draco was the only one guilty of doing so and yet he had been the only one on trial.

Besides, even if Draco had voluntarily joined Voldemort’s ranks, it did not change anything; at least, that was the way Harry saw it, but maybe his view on the entire matter was skewed. Then again, so was Pieletska’s.

Maybe that was it. Did Pieletska not like him because he’d volunteered to take the stand in the Malfoys’ defense at their trials, preventing the Malfoys from seeing jail time? Of course, Lucius had been sent back to Azkaban to finish out his earlier sentence for breaking into and vandalizing the Department of Mysteries and lying under oath. Nothing Harry said could have prevented that. At least with the Dementors no longer at the wizarding prison, the remaining years were more humane. Lucius had even been released early for good behavior.

Whether Harry’s assumptions were correct or not, whatever Pieletska’s problem was, the man needed to get over it and move on. How had this man become Head Auror when he allowed his personal feelings to steer his actions? It made Harry wonder. How many innocent people had been sent to prison just because Pieletska did not like them?

“You are, of course, entitled to your opinion,” Harry told his boss as he dropped his leg to the floor, “sir,” he added after a purposeful pause, “but Draco was found not guilty by the Wizengamot-”

“This is not the same as being innocent.”

Harry inclined his head in agreement. As much as he disliked agreeing with Pieletska on anything, the Head Auror was correct. When a defendant was found “not guilty”, it usually meant that the prosecution had not proven their case beyond a reasonable doubt--according to the jury at least. It did not mean that the defendant was innocent of said crime.

“Be that as it may, sir,” Harry continued, “Draco is not a criminal and framing him for a crime he has not committed just because you disagree with the Wizengamot’s ruling-”

“Beon hweat? Paet-”

Both men froze, blinking blankly across the L-shaped dark oak desk at one another.

“Sir?” Harry spoke after several long moments of silence. His voice was soft and cautious, but his pulse was racing. “Are you-?”

With the first stirrings of panic flitting across his face, Pieletska tried speaking again, but once again, nothing more than incomprehensible gibberish spewed forth.

Frowning, Harry kept his gaze firmly locked on Pieletska and extended his right arm slightly from his body. In a disillusioned holder strapped around his right forearm was his wand. All it would take was a flick of his wrist and his holly wand would drop into his hand. After all, this could be a trick by Pieletska in order to get him to lower his guard so that he could attack Harry. Harry would not put it passed the man. But his gut was telling him this was no hoax. Something was seriously wrong with his boss. Just the same, he did not lower his guard.

Harry went to ask the man once again if he was all right, but he never had the chance. The color drained from Pieletska’s face. Then he fell face first onto his desk. The loud thunk of Pieletska’s head hitting the hard surface of the desk was what sprang Harry into action. He raced around the desk, calling over his shoulder for help. His own face paled when he could not find a pulse.

 

* * *

 

**Two Hours Later - Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - London, England**

“And he just--collapsed,” Harry finished.

Auror Adelphos Constantine nodded. “Alright. Thank you Auror Potter.” Constantine’s root beer colored eyes never once left the small notepad in his hand. “If you can remember anything else, you will let us know.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed with a nod.

He was not sure what to make of his fellow Auror. Constantine was hard to read and even harder to like. The man had a way of making even the most guilt-free people feel guilt-ridden and just by his mere presence. It was a very disconcerting feeling, but it was what made Constantine such an invaluable Auror. There’d been talk among those who felt Pieletska should be ousted from office, including Harry himself, who believed that Constantine would make an excellent Head Auror. Constantine had never commented on the rumors.

With a snap of his wrist, the veteran Auror closed the notepad and stuffed it into an inner pocket of his robes. Only then did he spare Harry the first glance since arriving at the hospital to take Harry’s statement. With a sharp nod, Constantine turned smartly on his heels. His robes billowed out about him in such a way that reminded Harry distinctly of Snape. Rounding the corner, Constantine disappeared from view, but his footsteps continued to echo through the otherwise quiet corridor.

From somewhere within the hospital came the occasional bing of the elevator and murmured voices.

With a sigh, Harry followed after Constantine, but at a more sedate pace; turning the corner in time to see the hem of the veteran Auror’s robe vanish within the waiting room that was reserved specifically for those who had loved ones in surgery. The steady stream of voices emanating from the medium-sized room was cut short as the door shut.

Harry went to follow when a woman who could not be much taller than he was stepped out from a door across the hall from the waiting room. She was wearing sea foam green scrubs and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. A sign hanging from the ceiling read, “Surgery Admission” with a white arrow pointing towards the very doorway through which the mediwitch had exited. The woman crossed the hall and opened the door to the waiting room. Not so much as a whisper flowed out into the hallway.

The atmosphere was tense when Harry stepped into the waiting room moments later.

The Healer was kneeling before Pieletska’s wife, Brónach. “Mrs. Pieletska, I’m Healer Ó Beacháin,” the woman spoke with a thick accent. “I was on call when your husband was rushed into the ER this morning.”

“How is he? How’s my husband?” Brónach Pieletska asked in panicked desperation, clutching a handkerchief so tightly her knuckles were white.

“He’s had what we call an Ischemic stroke. This is when blood supply to part of the brain is decreased.”

There was a round of gasps some quiet sobbing and a wave of muffled whispering at the news.

If Brónach Pieletska had been standing, she would have fallen. As it was, she swooned. One of her sons helped steady her. Harry recognized him from past Ministry functions. He believed his name was Josiah. “Why?” Brónach Pieletska half-whispered half-wailed from behind her handkerchief. Her usually bright blue eyes were dull and swimming behind a wall of tears.

“There are four known reasons as to what can cause an Ischemic stroke. It can be caused by a thrombosis, which is an obstruction of a blood vessel by a blood clot,” she rattled off, raising a finger, “an embolism,” a second finger, “a systemic hypoperfusion, which is a general decrease in blood supply, such as what occurs when one goes into shock,” a third finger, “or a venous thrombosis.” She dropped her hand. “In your husband’s case, though, he’s had what we call a ‘cryptogenic’ Ischemic stroke. What this means is that the cause of his stroke is unknown.”

“W-what do you mean ‘unknown’? What happened to my husband?” Brónach Pieletska demanded. That earlier desperation was beginning to turn into anxiety. If she did not calm down, Harry was afraid the medical staff would be forced to sedate her.

“At this time, we are unsure what caused your husband to have a stroke,” Healer Ó Beacháin explained in a calm voice. “Thirty to forty percent of patients who suffer an Ischemic stroke are classified as having a cryptogenic stroke.”

Brónach Pieletska slammed a trembling hand on the arm of her chair. Her youngest son, who was sitting behind her, lightly touched her shoulders and whispered softly into her ear, but she brushed him off as if he were nothing more than an annoying fly. If Harry was not mistaken, the younger son’s name was Ethan. “I don’t care about other patients! I want to know about my husband,” she screeched.

Healer Ó Beacháin nodded. “An Ischemic stroke occurs because of a loss of blood supply to part of the brain, initiating the ischemic cascade. As a result, the affected area of the brain is unable to function, which might result in an inability to move one or more limbs on one side of the body, inability to understand or formulate speech, or an inability to see one side of the visual field.”

There were a second round of gasps, muffled sobs and broken whispers

“Brain tissue ceases to function if deprived of oxygen for more than 60 to 90 seconds and after approximately three hours, will suffer irreversible injury possibly leading to death of the tissue, but because of the quick thinking of the Aurors, this did not happen.” She laid a hand on Brónach Pieletska’s arm and smiled. “Your husband is going to be fine.”

It was as if the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. The tension that had been suffocating the occupants--including Pieletska’s five children, his wife, parents and in-laws, friends and associates of both Mr. and Mrs. Pieletska, Ministry workers and Aurors--simply ceased to exist.

“Can I see him?” Brónach Pieletska asked with a pleading watery smile.

“Of course. Someone will be by in a little while to take you to your husband’s room.”

“Thank you,” Brónach Pieletska whispered.

Healer Ó Beacháin smiled gently and whispered, “He’ll be fine,” to the distraught housewife before sweeping passed Harry, whom had sagged against the wall in his relief, and out the room.

Harry wasn’t as egotistical, arrogant, or selfish as to actually feel responsible for bringing about Pieletska’s stroke, but he did feel bad for the guy. Pieletska was a pain in the ass to work for and with; in fact, Harry did not like him. But for an Auror to survive through everything they are forced to deal with on a daily basis only to be cut down by something like a stroke was somewhat anticlimactic. It was like a veteran surviving war only to be murdered at home by a petty thief.

Seconds later, the alarm on Harry’s watch went off. He cursed, startled to realize just how late it was. In the excitement of Pieletska’s attack, Harry had completely forgotten that he’d made plans to have lunch with Draco. Cursing again, Harry fled through the hospital to the apparition point.

Draco was going to kill him.

 

* * *

 

**Half an Hour Later - Bean Sidhe Café - Bannum Alley**

“You’re late,” Draco Malfoy bit as soon as he caught sight of Harry who was being guided through the café to the open-air patio by the host.

Harry apologized as he took the seat opposite the blond-haired Potions Master.

The host laid a menu down on the white plate before saying, “Your waiter will be right with you.”

After thanking the man, Harry turned the menu open to the beverage section and perused the extensive, not to mention expensive, selection.

If it was not for the privacy Bannum Alley afforded him, unlike that of Diagon, Harry was not sure if he would have ever stepped foot within the lavish and affluent shopping district. This was despite the fact that Harry was wealthy enough to purchase Bannum Alley twenty times over and still have enough money to allow the next thirty generations of Potters to live lives of luxury.

Having grown up with nothing and knowing that he was now the single wealthiest bloke in the entirety of Wizarding Europe, possibly the world, made Harry extremely uncomfortable. Of course, Draco was slowly curing him of that, whether Harry liked it or not.

“Well?” Draco snapped.

After deciding to go with a ridiculously expensive wine that he could not pronounce the name of, but which Harry could vaguely remember having sampled, Harry turned towards his friend and explained what had taken place that morning.

As expected, Draco glowered violently when he heard what Pieletska was, once again, trying to do and vowed to speak to his attorney about the matter immediately. “One would think Pieletska would have learned by now,” Draco said.

Harry snorted. “You would think.”

“I mean, after being sued countless times-”

“Five if I‘m not mistaken.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at that. Had it really been nearly half a dozen times? Somehow, he was not surprised. He waved the trivial matter aside. “Either way, you would think that after being sued once for slander, making false accusations without sufficient evidence-”

“False arrest,” Harry added. Pieletska had actually had Aurors arrest Draco back in March for assault and battery and use of an Unforgivable even though the only “evidence” they had was the word of the supposed victim who was well known in the DMLE for not only making false accusations, but also smuggling illegal contraband. Even if the “victim” had been an upstanding citizen, the charges still would not have held up in court. At the time Draco was supposedly “beating the crap” out of the “poor defenseless wizard”, Harry and he were out of the country. They’d been in Newfoundland, Canada actually and had hundreds of witnesses to the fact. Pieletska had been none too pleased to have been thwarted.

With a nod of his head, Draco continued, “-among many countless other false allegations, Pieletska would have realized this private war of his is pointless.”

“Guess not,” Harry snorted. “Anyway,” he continued, “that’s not all.” Harry went on to tell him about how Pieletska had collapsed over his desk. “Turns out it was a stroke.”

At that, Draco burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Harry said as he fought the curl of his lips and the flutter of his heart. Draco’s laugh seemed to affect him in strange ways lately.

“Oh, please,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “Pieletska was an insufferable man and you know it.”

“Well, yes-”

“How often has he interfered in your cases? Taken credit for something you did? Used you as a scapegoat for his mistakes and blunders? How many criminals have slipped through your fingers because of all the red tape he wraps you in?”

Draco did have a point. Pieletska was not a very nice man, but not liking him was very different from believing that he deserved and brought upon himself the stroke that very well could have killed him.

“Dear Merlin,” Draco moaned suddenly, “don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“You actually feel responsible!”

Harry scoffed at the unfounded accusation. “Please!”

Crossing his arms, Draco narrowed his eyes. “Really?” he prodded.

“Though,” Harry said with a sly smirk that would look foreign on the face of the Savior to anybody who hadn’t been spending as much of his or her time with Harry as of late like Draco has, “it wouldn’t surprise me if I was responsible.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. By the tone of Harry’s voice, it was clear Harry was not suffering from some misguided sense of guilt over something that was clearly out of his hands.

“You see,” Harry continued, “a stroke can be caused by hypertension-”

“High blood pressure,” Draco translated.

The sly smirk grew. “Exactly.”

Draco chuckled lowly. He knew where Harry was going with this now. “And the fact that Pieletska was forced to deal with the two of us on a daily basis-”

“Who he hates with a passion.”

“Exactly,” Draco agreed with a nod.

“It’d be enough to give anybody high blood pressure.”

Draco threw his head back and laughed loudly.

Their waitress finally made an appearance just then and apologized for the wait. “Can I start you gentlemen with something to drink?” she inquired softly.

“Yes. I’ll have a glass of Gewürztrminer,” Harry garbled. His face flushed in embarrassment.

Draco snickered.

Harry scowled playfully back at him. He had the childish urge to kick him.

“It’s pronounced guh-voorts-truh-mee-nur.”

“Whatever,” Harry mumbled, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

Chuckling, Draco turned towards the waitress and ordered a glass of Merlot.

While the younger woman nodded and seemed to make some sort of notation in the brown leather bound notepad all the waitstaff carried, Draco had to wonder if she’d actually heard a word he said for she could not seem to take her eyes away from Harry. For his part, Harry did not spare her a single glance. Instead, those wondrous emerald eyes were either on Draco or on the menu. This never failed to fascinate Draco, especially because it was apparently unconscious on Harry‘s part. There was a look of hurt on the face of the waitress as she left promising to be right back with their order. Draco sent a smirk after her.

“Look, Dray-”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname. Since early childhood, he had despised them, but for some reason, hearing a shortened version of his name uttered by Harry--he liked it very much. He fought back the blush that wanted to turn his pale complexion into the color of a boiled lobster. “Harry.”

“It’s entirely possible that Pieletska will find some way to pin his stroke on us no matter what the Healers say.”

“Of course he will,” Draco muttered with a heavy sigh.

“He’s been trying to get rid of me ever since I entered the Academy. Blaming the both of us for his near death experience-”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“-would be like killing two birds with one stone.”

“What’s he gonna say? That we slipped something into his tea?”

Harry snorted. That very thing happened a year before Harry entered the Auror Academy. Pieletska had agreed to an interview by a reporter who claimed to be from The Daily Prophet, but who turned out to be an assassin. The woman slipped a poison into Pieletska’s tea when the man left the office for a few seconds during their interview.

“Or used a silent incantation that nobody else knows about?”

Wouldn’t surprise me, Harry thought.

“I would say you actually saved Pieletska’s life,” Draco said.

Harry laughed at the irony of that. That was definitely something Pieletska would not appreciate. It would probably give him a heart attack. “I’d love to be there when he hears that!”

Chuckling, Draco scanned the café interior for a sign of their waitress whom had promised to be right back with their order, but did not see her. In fact, other then he and Harry, there weren’t many other patrons. Those few that were frequenting the establishment seemed to be waiting on the young woman as well. What was holding her up? Draco scowled in annoyance. How long did it take to pour two glasses of wine? Was she making it from scratch? Honestly!

“Stop it.”

“Huh?” Draco turned his attention back to Harry. “Stop what? Who‘re you talking to?”

Harry pointed at Draco’s hand, which was thrumming steady beats on the linen tablecloth.

Draco stilled the movement immediately and scowled at having been caught doing something so uncouth. Ignoring a laughing Harry, Draco turned once again to search for their waitress. There was still no sign of her. “Where is that damn waitress?” he snapped impatiently.

“Maybe there’s a problem in the kitchen,” Harry suggested.

Draco snorted and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You would think that if there was some sort of problem, they would be respectful enough to inform us.”

Harry shrugged.

“Speaking of problems,” Draco continued, dropping his arms and crossing his legs under the table, “how’s the Weaselette and the others faring? Still in a huff about the prenuptial agreement you forced the Weaselette to sign?”

Before Harry could answer, their waitress appeared with their wine, uttering stuttering apologies for the wait and asking if they were ready to order. Both decided to start with a small salad followed by the French onion soup. For the main course, they both ordered the salmon, which was sautéed in a Sauvignon Blanc wine sauce and served with a side of steamed asparagus.

“Make sure it arrives in a timely fashion this time,” Draco said, barely managing to keep from snapping.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My apologies,” the girl stuttered. Pale faced, she scurried off to the kitchen to place the orders, but not before she tried to catch Harry’s eye. To Draco’s continued fascination and delight, Harry once again ignored the poor infatuated girl, but he did sigh heavily with a small shake of his head.

“What?”

“You could be a little nicer you know. It wouldn’t hurt,” Harry answered with a sip of his rose-colored wine. It’s aroma of passion fruit with an underlining scent of roses tingled his senses.

That had Draco raising an eyebrow. He then shook his head with a snort. When they went out, Harry had the tendency to ignore the women around them as if they did not exist and he was telling Draco to be “a little nicer”. Talk about the kettle calling the pot black.

“What?” Harry inquired at the incredulous look on Draco’s face.

Draco shook his head in amusement. “Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.”

Harry did not believe him, but let it go.

“So?” Draco inquired after taking a sip of his own wine.

“So what?”

“How are things between the Golden Trio plus One?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, Ron and Ginny are fine.”

“But?”

“But what?” Harry asked, taking another sip of his wine.

“Come now, Harry,” Draco prodded, crossing his arms over the edge of the table and leaning forwards. “You and I both know that it not exactly the case.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, we do. You see, I’ve heard tell that the Weasley brood was none too-happy about such an agreement being drawn up.”

“Of course you have. I’m the one who told you,” Harry reminded him.

“And?”

Harry leaned back and crossed his arms to keep the temptation to run his fingers through his hair at bay. Draco was trying to cure him of this tick.

Turning away from Draco’s intense gaze, Harry instead scanned the Alley, taking in the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Men, women and children meandered here and there, occasionally stopping to chat with acquaintances. There was the occasional delivery wizard or house-elf. And none of them stopped to gawk at Harry as if he were some sort of special attraction or oddity at the zoo. Here he was just another chap in the crowd. Here in Bannum Alley, he was who he always wanted to be: Harry.

“Like I said before, Ginny and I talked,” Harry began, “and she--understands.”

Draco took note of the slight pause. Interesting.

“She was hurt initially when I brought it up. Actually slapped me.” Harry winced at the memory, his hand fluttering to the cheek that had taken the offense.

Draco’s hands itched to soothe the wound. He curled them into fists to keep from reaching across the table and thus making a fool of himself.

“Ended up not talking to me for a while.”

Draco snorted. Now there was a shame, he thought.

“But she cooled down once she thought about it. She understands.” Or so she told me, Harry thought silently. He would not admit it aloud, but he still had some misgivings. Not about the prenuptial agreement itself or with forcing Ginny to sign one, because Draco was correct in what he’d told him.

“Look Potter, maybe you’ll be one of those rare couples that stay together, but what if, what if, you don’t? Don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?”

In all honesty, Harry was not sure what he was still uncertain about. It was like an itch that you cannot seem to locate.

“And the others?” Draco asked, taking another sip of wine.

Harry sighed, dropping his chin in his hand. He glanced briefly at Draco before searching for their waitress- not that he knew what she looked like. Somewhere along the line, he’d finished his glass of wine. Maybe he should have purchased a bottle of the stuff instead.

“Not so understanding I take it?”

“With a great many things,” Harry muttered.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at that.

A flash of orange out of the corner of Draco’s eye just then caught his attention. He searched it out, hoping it was nothing more than some witch or wizard’s poor attempt at fashion. The alternative was not something he was in the mood to deal with; or ever, in fact. Unfortunately, the alternative is what it turned out to be. “Speaking of which,” Draco said with a sneer.

Harry whipped his head around. “Huh?”

Draco pointed out the annoyed looking ginger-haired Auror across the street with a jerk of his chin. The man was not alone. His bushy-haired wife was at his side.

Dropping his hand, Harry sat back and turned to look out across the alley. He groaned then cursed lowly under his breath when he spotted Ron and Hermione glowering at him from across the street. For the love of Merlin! He was twenty-two years old! Could he not have five seconds alone without having his self-appointed guardians hovering over his shoulders? Was that too much to ask for?

Draco found Harry’s reactions to the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio interesting and very intriguing. “They’re coming this way,” Draco announced.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry noted that Draco was right. While Ron had remained on the other side of the street in front of a French bakery, Hermione strode towards him with long purposeful strides. “Here we go,” he muttered.

“How’d they even know where you were?” Draco inquired as he watched the Muggleborn witch cross towards them. Given Harry’s reaction to the sight of his friends, Draco had the feeling that Harry had not informed them of where and with whom he would be having lunch. “Don’t tell me they put a locator charm on you.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Harry said with a snort. “I didn’t even tell Ginny who I was having lunch with.”

Draco’s eyebrow rose. “What did you tell them?”

Harry shrugged. “That I was having lunch with a friend.”

A smug sense of satisfaction rose within Draco at the confession.

“‘Mione,” Harry greeted with forced pleasure when Hermione saddled up to the waist high wrought iron fence that enclosed the patio of the café. “What are you doing here?” He stood up and greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. “You remember Draco.”

“Granger,” Draco greeted evenly with a small incline of his head. Or was it Weasley? And did it even matter? Not really.

Hermione did not waste Draco with so much as a courtesy greeting, which had Draco quietly bristling. This was the exact reason why Purebloods despised Muggles and Muggleborns: poor basic etiquette.

With her arms crossed over her chest in a way that had her cradling her breasts, Hermione glared down at Harry. Her eyes were dark with fury. “Harry, can I speak with you? Privately,” she added when she remembered the unsavory company her best friend was keeping nowadays.

Mirroring her, Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “About?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“You know what this is about.”

Unfortunately, that was too true. He did. Draco. Or more accurately, his association with Draco.

Both she and Ron blamed Draco for the prenuptial agreement, which in a way, was an accurate accusation. If Draco hadn’t brought it up, Harry never would have even entertained the thought, but in the end, he was the one to make the decision. Not Draco. It wasn’t as if Draco held a wand to his head and forced him to have one drawn up. Ron and Hermione felt about the prenup the way Harry had when Draco initially brought it up. Only while Harry came to realize the importance of such an agreement, Ron and Hermione continued to feel as if having a prenuptial was a physical manifestation of the lack of trust Harry must have for Ginny. But it wasn’t just about the prenup.

“Don’t you remember what he did to us, to ‘Mione, Ginny, Dumbledore?” It was always the same argument with Ron. To which Harry would always utter the same reply. “I do, but apparently you don’t.” It always led to fisticuffs.

They’d gotten into numerous arguments over the past year over Draco. It was why he hadn’t told them that the friend he was having lunch with was Draco. It was also why the three of them have begun to drift apart. They did not like his taste in friends and he did not like how they insisted on nitpicking his life.

“Actually, I don’t,” Harry lied smoothly.

Hermione narrowed her gaze.

“But whatever it is will just have to wait,” Harry continued much to the pleasure of Draco who smirked smugly while Hermione looked ready to argue. Before she could, though, his and Draco’s salads finally arrived. Instead of the waitress who had taken their wine orders, the salads were delivered by a male waiter.

Harry and Draco exchanged a look as Harry retook his seat.

“I apologize,” the waiter said. “Monica-” they were guessing that was their waitress‘s name, “-wasn’t feeling well. Your soup will be out momentarily.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, suppressing the urge to laugh. Not feeling well huh? More like feeling slighted.

Their new waiter sauntered back into the shadows of the café.

Harry glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye. “See? Told you there was a reason.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, which I always do-”

Harry rolled his eyes as he picked up his fork and speared a halved cherry tomato and popped it into his mouth.

“-you said there was probably a problem in the kitchen.”

“Same difference,” Harry said with a wave of his fork.

“Uh huh.”

Harry chuckled as he stuffed a slice of cucumber in his mouth next.

“Excuse me,” interrupted the irritated female voice.

Both Draco and Harry turned to see Hermione still standing on the street outside the café patio. Hermione, for her part, not only still had her arms crossed, but her foot was moving at warp speed, her mouth was pursed into such a thin line that her lips were all but invisible and her face was flushed in anger.

Draco had to choke back his laughter at the sight of her bushy brown hair that was even more out of control than it had been when she arrived. She looked as if she was wearing a clown’s wig.

As if he could read Draco’s mind, Harry shot him a glare, though his lips twitched.

“Harry,” she snapped.

Resting his fork on the table besides his plate, Harry wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin that he’d settled upon his lap before turning towards his friend. “Look,” he began calmly, “you don’t like my association with Draco. I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she corrected him heatedly.

Harry’s eye twitched. He hated when she did that: act condescending and she did all the damn time. Something within Harry snapped. “You know what? I don’t and frankly? I could care less. You have a problem with Draco? Tough shit. Deal with it and move on.” He ignored her gasp. “Both Draco and I grew up. Time for you and Ron to do the same.”

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione shouted in outrage.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Harry shot back.

Draco chuckled.

Hermione shot him a dirty look.

Draco smirked.

When their waiter, whose nametag read Robert, arrived with their soup, he did so quickly and quietly before hightailing it out of Dodge. Draco did not blame him in the least.

He also noticed that unlike with Monica, Harry looked as if he were checking out Robert, their new waiter, but without trying to look as if he were looking. Interesting.

“Draco and I are friends. That is something you are just going to have to deal with,” Harry bit out. “That’s not to say,” he continued over her protestations, “that I’m expecting you and Ron to become friends with him.”

Draco choked on his first sip of soup at that. Him? Befriend a Weasel and a Mudblood? Not likely. Ever.

Harry ignored him.

Hermione did her best to ignore Draco as well, but the clenching of her jaw and the fisting of her hands proved she was finding that difficult.

“Because that’ll never happen,” Harry said.

“Damn right,” Draco mumbled.

“Dray,” Harry warned with a tired sigh. He was starting to get a headache.

Once again, Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the usage of the nickname. Clearing his throat and ignoring that his face was aflame, Draco went on trying to enjoy his soup, which was not as easy or as enjoyable as it would be had it not been for the filth that was determined to destroy his day.

Hermione started at the nickname that slipped out of Harry’s mouth so easily.

“But I am,” Harry said, ignoring the look of betrayal on his friend’s face, “expecting you to at least pretend to act civil when in Draco’s presence and if you cannot do that, well...” He was sure there was no need to finish that sentence.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Effectively turning his back on her, Harry dug into the French onion soup, which he had to reheat with a subtle wave of his wand as it had cooled.

Harry--feeling like a heel but adamant in what he said--and Draco--smug in the knowledge that Harry had chosen him over Granger--ate in silence. Hermione stood staring down at one of her oldest friends in dismay.

“Okay,” Hermione finally said. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Okay Harry. If that’s what you want.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched her smile sadly at him before turning away. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” he called softly after her without raising his gaze from his soup. He really was.

Hermione paused. “Me, too,” she whispered back as she studied her black booted feet against the cobblestone-paved street.

“You know I love you right? You and Ron both,” Harry continued.

“I know.”

“And I know you’re just trying to look out for me.”

“Is that so wrong?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but ‘Mione…I’m not a child anymore. I’m a big boy and can look after myself.”

Hermione twirled around to face him with a protest on her lips. “I know that Harry, but-!”

“But nothing,” Harry snapped. He paused to get hold over himself, before continuing, “If befriending Draco is a mistake then so be it. It’s my mistake to make.” Each word was spoken softly and carefully.

Draco’s eye twitched.

“But Harry-”

“I’ve told you this before. What I need are friends not parents. If you want to dictate somebody’s life then have a child. I am not your child.”

“I know that Harry!”

“Then act like it,” Harry snapped. Once again, he paused to regain hold over his emotions. “My life is my life. Not yours. What I do, who I see, who I hang out with--none of it is your business.”

“But if we’re friends like you say we are then-”

“Then nothing!” Harry slammed down his spoon with a loud clatter. A hush fell over the café as the few patrons within paused to watch the goings-on.

Draco could not work out whether to be embarrassed, scandalized or awed.

Across the street, it was taking everything Ron had to keep from marching across the street and intervening. His Auror instincts were screaming at him, but Hermione made him promise before they left not to interfere no matter what happened. She had this notion that he would just make everything worse.

“You have no say in how I run my life,” Harry was saying. “If I want to make Draco my new best friend, it’s none of your business. If I decide not to tell you every single minute detail of my life, it’s none of your business. If I want friends other than you and Ron, it’s none of your business. If I want to keep some aspect of my life private, even from you and Ron, then it’s none of your business. You, Hermione, are my friend not my mother.”

Hermione spluttered, unsure what to say or how to take what she just heard. There was a war of emotions racing through her. “Wh-what about Ginny then?”

Harry blinked. “Ginny? What about her? What’s this got to do with her?”

“She’s-!”

“You know what? I don’t care. I’m through having this conversation.” Picking his napkin up from his lap, he tossed it onto the table. Pushing his chair back, he stood up. “Draco, thank you for lunch. Sorry it turned out so unpleasant.” With a last glare at Hermione, Harry sidestepped out from behind the table and vanished.

Not the least bit nonplussed, Draco sat back and sipped the rest of his wine while Hermione stared agape at the spot where Harry had just been. He chuckled at her gobsmacked expression.

Catching the eye of the waiter--who has been waiting tentatively in the recesses of the café, unwilling to get involved--Draco made a motion with his hand that indicated he wanted the check brought to him as well as the rest of their meal boxed.

“This is your fault.”

“Are you still here?” Draco asked in disbelief as he turned to face the infuriated Muggleborn witch.

“Harry wasn’t like this before he started hanging out with you.”

Draco snorted. “Sure he was,” he protested. “He just decided to stop placating you.”

“Harry would never-”

Pushing his own chair back, Draco stood, towering over Hermione. “You obviously have a problem with listening.”

“How dare you!”

“Look, Granger,” Draco began, “Harry--You know what? No. He said everything there was to say.” He took the brown faux leather bound bill folder and the to-go containers that held his and Harry’s fish out of Robert’s hands when the waiter appeared. Robert then took off as if his ass were on fire. “I know Harry has an anger management problem. I’m actually trying to get him to see a mind-healer about that.”

Hermione started at him, blinking rapidly, unsure how to take that.

“But what he said is the truth despite how he said it. The way you and the others treat him--it smothers him. He feels suffocated. All he’s trying to do--all he wants is some breathing space, but every time he succeeds in gaining some, you appear and take it away from him as if he were a toddler who’s been into something he shouldn’t have.”

Was that really how Harry felt?

“If you value your friendship with Harry at all, I would suggest you actually start to listen to what he has to say instead of patronizing him.”

A tight fist of guilt wrapped around Hermione’s heart.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me?” With a tip of an imaginary hat, Draco fled as gracefully as he could towards the register so he could pay the bill and then track Harry down before he did something stupid.

“…Draco my new best friend…”

Those words kept repeating themselves in Draco’s head as he paid the bill.

Step two complete, he thought smugly.

 

* * *

 

**Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

The first time Harry apparated when apparition was supposed to be impossible, such as apparating through anti-apparition wards, was during the Cass-Robinson case a year ago.

The Daily Prophet had taken to calling what transpired that fateful day, “The Real Adventures of Romeo and Juliet”. Like the Shakespearian play, the Cass-Robinson case was, in reality, a tragedy and not a romance. There is nothing romantic about death.

Fifth year students Cassandra Cass and Leo Robinson had been secretly dating for three months when word reached their families who had a century’s old feud boiling between them. Nobody was sure what started the feud or why. It just was and that was all there was to it.

The bad blood between the two families forced the young lovers apart. As was typical of teenagers, Cassandra and Leo rebelled against the demands of their parents and continued to see one another. When word reached the Cass family, Mr. Cass threatened to pull his daughter from Hogwarts and send her abroad or possibly into a Muggle convent. At that time, Leo Robinson decided it was best to end things. This led to a heated argument between the couple that in turn led the couple to avoid one another.

A fortnight later and halfway through dessert, both Cassandra Cass and Leo Robinson collapsed into their treacle tarts dead.

According to Draco, whom had consulted on the case as an independent expert specialist, ten times the lethal amount of a banned barbiturate called Magnus Hallucinari was found in Leo Robinson as well as Cassandra Cass’ systems. Trace amounts were also found in each of their goblets. Much like LSD, Magnus Hallucinari was a hallucinogenic drug that caused people to see, hear and sense people or events that are not actually there or occurring. It was banned more than a century ago. A search of their persons turned up an empty vial in Cassandra Cass’ robe.

At first, it’d been unknown whether Leo Robinson was aware that his pumpkin juice had been spiked, but it soon became evident that he hadn’t taken the deadly barbiturate willingly.

First, the most important quidditch game of the entire school year was the next day and Leo Robinson, as backup team seeker, had agreed to substitute for Dianthus Williams who’d had an unfortunate accident in Transfiguration and wouldn’t be able to play.

Secondly, Leo Robinson had shown no signs, even in hindsight, of being suicidal or even depressed after their forced breakup, unlike Cassandra Cass who’d been in a depressed funk according to her closest friends. In fact, according to Miguel Rodriguez, Leo Robinson’s best friend, Leo had started seeing someone else.

It seemed as if Leo Robinson had moved on. Cassandra Cass hadn’t.

This lead to the conclusion that the deaths of Cassandra Cass and Leo Robinson were not a double suicide as had originally thought to be the case, but was in fact a murder-suicide.

When the Cass and Robinson families were called in to identify the bodies of their children, all hell had broken loose. The Casses blamed the Robinsons for the death of their daughter and the Robinsons blamed the Casses for the death of their son. Harry had been so disgusted with how these people were acting that he was truly worried that there would be more murder-suicides for the Aurors to investigate--minus the suicide part--if he stayed there much longer. All he’d done was wish to be elsewhere and suddenly he was.

Somehow, he’d managed to apparate through the anti-apparition wards around Hogwarts, which was a normally impossible feat, but there he was in the middle of Diagon Alley. Not even Headmasters had the ability to apparate through the wards of Hogwarts.

But it wasn’t apparition. That much Harry knew. It was another form of teleportation. He’s been doing some research with the help of Draco, but so far, neither had turned up anything that would explain what was happening. Until that time, Draco told him he should probably check his emotions.

It was not easy.

Appearing in the living room of his house, Harry dropped down into the armchair before the cold hearth with a grateful sigh. Closing his eyes, he slouched down low enough so that none coming up behind him would see him until they were atop him. With his hands laced over his stomach, Harry stretched his feet out towards the fireplace and allowed the silence to envelope him.

He felt bad for how he behaved at the café.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the black wrought iron gate closed over the silent hearth.

He was going to have to make it up to Draco, Hermione and Ron somehow.

A noise behind him had Harry leaping to his feet. Twirling about, his wand in his hand and pointed before he had even processed the noise, he was startled to see Ginny. He made note of the two boxes in her arms. Ginny had come into the house through the front door and was proceeding towards the staircase that led up to the second floor where the bedrooms was located.

“Ginny?” he called, slipping his wand back into its holster.

Ginny wiped around, looking equally startled. The boxes, which Harry suspected had featherweight charms cast on them, slipped from Ginny’s grip, but she managed to reaffirm her hold. “Harry,” she breathed. “What are you doing here? I didn’t realize you were home. How was lunch?”

Harry grimaced, but managed to shrug. “Fine,” he said, hoping she would leave it at that.

His hopes were dashed when Ginny frowned. She resembled Hermione at times like these and no, it was not a compliment. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Nothing.” That concerns you, he added silently. “I’m fine.”

As much as he would like to discuss his problems with Ginny, it was just not possible. Ginny liked Draco as much as Ron and Hermione did. Actually, like Hermione, Ginny used to just ignore Draco’s very existence, but once she learned that the idea of a prenuptial had initially come from Draco, Ginny’s passive aggressiveness had gone up in smoke right along with Draco’s Slytherin green robes that he’d been wearing the first time the two had come face to face after the prenup was signed. Harry had had the unfortunate act of arresting her. That had not gone over too well. Neither had the judgment that instead of jail time for assault, Ginny would have to pay for Draco’s robes that she ruined. She had been none too happy about that especially because she was still paying for them a year later.

Ginny looked as if she did not believe him.

Harry fought to roll his eyes. Instead, he zeroed in on the boxes she was carrying. “What’s with the boxes?” he inquired.

“Oh, uhm…” Ginny shuffled and looked everywhere but at him. She seemed nervous. “Just some clothes and stuff.”

“Clothes and stuff,” Harry repeated. His voice sounded dead.

They may have been dating for five years, engaged for a year, but that did not give Ginny the right to move into his house without his permission. This was his house, not hers, not theirs, his. While Ginny spent a couple nights a week here and had a toothbrush and a few toiletries including a change of clothes, Ginny did not live here. She still lived with her parents. He understood that she was frustrated with the living arrangements, was sick of living at home, but that gave her no right to act on her own.

In fact, Harry had no idea why she hadn’t just gotten her own place. It’s not as if she doesn’t have the money. With her job as the sports writer for The Daily Prophet, she could afford to move out of The Burrow. Knowing Ginny though, she probably thought getting her own place was a waste of money. Why get her own place when she spends most of her time at his place? That was most likely the reason why she decided to take matters into her own hands. He thought he’d noticed little trinkets popping up all over the house that he could not remember seeing before.

Not long after Ginny graduated from Hogwarts, they talked briefly about moving in together, but Harry had quickly shot the idea down. He could not remember what excuses he’d used then, but his opinion on the matter had not changed. The idea of living with her more than just those few nights a week she already spent here made him uneasy and uncomfortable and not in the butterflies in the stomach sort of way either.

“Yes,” Ginny was saying with more confidence that she had moments before. “We’ve been dating for five years Harry.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“We got engaged a year ago,” Ginny continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “and we’re still living separately. For Heaven’s sake, we haven’t even started planning the wedding yet!”

With a headache threatening to split his head open, Harry sighed.

“So, if you’re not going to man up than I will.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded.

“Just that. I’ve decided it’s long since passed time for us to move in together.”

Harry’s eye twitched.

“And it’s also been decided that come this fall, we will be Mr. and Mrs.”

“What?!” Harry exploded. “Who the hell decided that?”

“It was a unanimous decision by everyone.”

“And where was I?” Harry demanded angrily.

“Not here that’s where,” Ginny snapped. “You’re always working or out with friends. I never get to see you anymore.”

“Hence taking matter into your own hands as if I weren’t a part of this relationship,” Harry sneered.

“You might as well not be!”

“Then why the hell are you moving in?”

With an expression equally scornful as Harry’s on her face, Ginny started to open her mouth to make a retort of some sort, but Harry never heard it. Instead, without saying anything, her mouth closed with an audible snap. The anger vanished. In its place, her dark eyes went wide and her tanned complexion went white.

Concern washed over Harry. “Ginny? You alright?” He took a step towards her and noticed she backed away from him. That had him frowning. Yes, they were fighting and they apparently had issues that needed to be dealt with, but Harry did care about Ginny. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

Ginny backpedaled away from him posthaste. She stumbled on the area rug behind her and the boxes slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter. Thankfully, the boxes were sealed shut so their contents did not spill out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ginny gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. She looked like she was about to vomit, faint, or both. “You,” she mumbled behind her hand. She was using the other one to point at him. It was shaking.

“I what?”

“You--looked just like--like Malfoy then.”

Harry blinked and said nothing for several long heartbeats. “What?” he finally managed to ask. His voice was flat and even.

The anger returned. It contorted and hardened her features. She did not look like the Ginevra Weasley he had fallen in love with. “That’s who you were having lunch with wasn’t it?” she demanded in a low hiss.

Harry didn’t panic. He did not so much as bat an eyelash. “Yes,” he admitted smoothly.

On the other hand, Ginny’s were harsh-controlled fury. “I thought I said-”

“-you didn’t want me seeing him,” Harry finished in the same poised tone. “You did.”

“And-”

“-I decided to ignore you obviously.”

“Why? Why would you do this to me?!”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Why what? Do what to you?”

“This! You know how I feel about the Malfoys!”

“It’s hard to forget,” Harry snapped, “seeing you remind fifty million times a day!”

“And rightfully so if you can’t oblige me your future wife!”

“That’s pretty difficult to do when he’s my partner!”

Ginny gaped at that, but quickly gained control. “Then request a new one!”

“No,” Harry said with his hands on his hips.

“…Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Ginny’s face was as red as her hair.

“I’ll tell you what I told Hermione and Ron. I don’t give a fuck how you feel about Draco. He’s my friend and if I want to hang out with him then I will. If you don’t like it, there’s the door.” Harry emphasized this by sweeping his hand towards the front door.

The indignation seemed to melt from Ginny leaving her teary eyed and lost. “You--you can’t mean that.”

“Why not?”

Ginny stood in the middle of the foyer with the area rug bunched up behind her. Her boxes lay forgotten between them. She searched his face. What she was looking for Harry was not sure.

He did not like that he was hurting her. He really didn’t, but she had to learn, just as Hermione and Ron did, that he was through placating them over his own wants and needs and desires. He was tired of them making him feel guilty for wanting to put himself first occasionally. He was no longer a child and refused to act as one by allowing childish grudges and acts made during childhood to follow him into adulthood. He was not sorry for going against Ginny’s wishes or for going behind her back and if that was a contradiction to his previous thoughts, then so be it.

Ginny must have seen all that on his face for she turned and ran out of the house with a sob.

Harry sighed. It was a heavy, irritated sound. He scrubbed his hands over his face and cursed. That was when he sensed a new presence enter the house. “What do you want Draco?”

“To finish lunch,” came the simple answer.

Dropping his hands, Harry saw Draco leaning against the threshold between the parlor and the foyer, two containers in his hands. Harry couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

Harry shook his head. “Nothing. Come in.” He waved Draco after him as he made his way to the dining room, but not before he banished the forgotten boxes back to The Burrow. “I’m starving.”

“You are one strange character, Harry.”

Harry snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Draco chuckled.

“Wine?” Harry inquired as he pulled out a chair.

Draco merely stared him.

Harry scoffed. “Silly me. Stupid question. Kreacher!”

The gangly old house-elf appeared almost instantly and bowed. “What can Kreacher do for Master?”

“A bottle of chardonnay please.”

“Right away Master.” Kreacher snapped his fingers and a chilled bottle of the white wine resting in an ice-filled bucket appeared besides Harry. With a second snap of his fingers, a wine glass appeared in front of Harry and Draco. Without having to be asked, the house-elf also apparated--or whatever it was house-elves did--plates, silverware and cloth napkins for both Harry and Draco.

“Thank you. That’ll be all.”

Kreacher bowed and vanished with a pop.

“Good choice,” Draco said eying the bottle.

“Thank you. Learned from the best,” Harry said as he popped the cork. Unlike in the movies, a waterfall of wine did not come spewing forth to make a mess of everything. Only the uncouth and uncultured would do something so vulgar--or Draco says. Who was Harry to argue? This wine was not cheap by any means and he was therefore not about to waste half the bottle by allowing it to rain done on his nice clean floors.

Draco did a sort of half bow from his seat. “You are very welcome.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he rose from his seat to pour some wine into their glasses. “Who said I was speaking about you?”

Draco sneered. “Prat.”

Harry chuckled. Recorking the bottle, he set the wine back into the bucket.

Draco, meanwhile, was serving out the food.

“Such menial behavior Draco.” Harry tsked. “Such uncouth behavior,” he laughed, unable to complete that sentence with a straight face.

In response, Draco tossed an asparagus at his head.

Still laughing, Harry ducked.

Kreacher appeared to pick up the discarded vegetable and popped back out.

Now this is nice, Harry thought, as he cut into his fish and Draco took a sip of wine, to be able to eat in peace without having your ear nagged off or feel the Evil Eye boring into the side of your head.

“So,” Draco drawled as he swallowed a piece of his salmon.

“So,” Harry echoed, “what?”

“What was that all about with the Weaselette?”

Harry rolled his eyes. Laying his fork, prongs side up, against the edge of the plate, Harry picked up his napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth before resettling it back on his lap. “It seems that I look like you,” he explained. He took a sip of his wine as Draco chocked on his.

Covering his mouth with his napkin, Draco half-coughed half-chocked out, “Excuse me?”

Chuckling, Harry went on to explain to Draco his fight with Ginny in-between bites of his fish.

“Ah,” Draco nodded once he was over his chocking fit.

Harry shoveled the last piece of fish into his mouth. He washed it down with the last sip of wine. “I don’t get it,” he said into the silence that had fallen.

“Get what?” Draco asked, setting his folded cloth napkin onto the plate with his silverware.

“Me and Ginny.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love her.”

Draco nodded his head in acknowledgement. “But?” he prodded.

“That’s just it!” With a sigh, Harry laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling fixture above the table. Ginny despised the elaborate monstrosity. Harry wondered if she subconsciously knew that Draco had picked it out. “She was right about a lot of what she said,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?” Draco asked.

“Like that we’ve been together for five years and I still haven’t asked her to move in with me. I mean,” Harry continued, dropping his hands and looking at Draco across the table, “it took me four years to ask her to marry me. It’s been a year since I popped the question and we still haven’t discussed wedding plans. On top of that…”

“On top of that?”

“We hardly see one another. If I’m not at work, I’m hanging out with you.”

Draco’s face was blank.

“I can’t remember the last time me and Ginny kissed let alone had sex. When we do see one another, we don’t really talk because we’re usually with Ron and Hermione and the three of them are always talking about something or other I know nothing about. I just--it feels as if…”

Kreacher popped in, took away the dishes, and then popped back out.

“…you’ve grown apart,” Draco observed.

Harry nodded. He stared down at the tablecloth. Like the chandelier, it was something else about his home that Ginny despised. It’d been a Christmas gift from Draco. There was nothing elaborate about it. It was a plain cream-colored cloth made from Egyptian cotton. It hadn’t even been that expensive. Now that he thought about it, there wasn’t one aspect about his house that Ginny liked. Well, correction. There was one: it wasn’t her parents’ house.

“Do you resent it?”

Harry blinked up at Draco. “Resent what?”

“Me.”

Harry continued to blink. “Resent? You? Why the hell would I?”

“Well,” Draco said, twirling his wine glass. Within it, the last of his wine spun in a vortex. “Because from a certain point of view, I seem to have come between you and Ginevra.”

If Harry weren’t so flabbergasted over the ridiculousness of that statement, Harry would have laughed at the expression on Draco’s face when he stuttered out Ginny’s name. You would think Draco was forcing himself to say “Voldemort” instead of “Dark Lord” or “You-Know-Who” with the way his face twisted and grimaced. “Don’t be absurd,” he snorted.

Draco’s head snapped up.

“The only thing that has come between me and Ginny is her inability to get over herself.”

Draco searched Harry’s face. “You’re serious.” He said it as if he could not believe it.

Embarrassed all of a sudden, Harry shrugged and dropped his gaze to his finger that was playing with the tablecloth, ignoring the heat that rushed to his face.

Sitting back, Draco smirked. There was a smug air about him as he wondered if this meant that Harry chose him over his fiancée.

Step three complete, he thought.

 

* * *

 

**Half an Hour Later - The Burrow - Outside Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Juggling several cloth grocery bags and fumbling for her wand that she kept within the pockets of her apron for easy access, Molly Weasley followed the well-worn path through the wards to her home. As she approached the front door, she noticed the door was closed but not latched. Instantly on guard, Molly set her grocery bags down and keeping her wand pointed at the door, reached out with her other hand and pushed it open with a hard shove. She jumped into the kitchen with a shout. The door flew open with such force that it bounced off against the counter behind the door and hit her backside. She stumbled forward with an oomph. Cursing it, she slowly closed the door behind her as she swept the kitchen.

Empty.

Just a few short years ago, she wouldn’t have been so cautious, but a war can do much to change a person.

Molly was just about to sweep the living room for intruders when she spotted something glinting in the sunlight on the table. She crept closer. It was a ring. A closer inspection and she realized it was Ginny’s engagement ring.

“Oh dear,” she said lowly.

Putting her wand away, she picked up the ring and crept upstairs to her daughter’s room. That was when she heard something. It was a continuous sound. It was soft, muffled. Molly followed it. The closer she came to her daughter’s room, the louder the sounds were. It did not take long for her to identify the sounds: crying.

Knocking softly, Molly pushed open the door to Ginny’s room. The sight that greeted her had her heart breaking. Ginny was laying face down on her bed, her arms hugging the pillows in which she had her face buried.

“Oh, Ginny,” Molly cooed. She rushed forward and perched on the edge of the bed. “Ginny dear.” She reached out and ran a hand over her daughter’s soft red locks. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Oh Mom,” Ginny wailed. She threw herself at her mother. “Mom! I--I think--I think Harry just broke up with me!”

At the startling confession, Molly felt a roiling mixture of emotions surge through her. She was outraged and confused and part of her was in denial. She wasn’t sure how to feel at this unexpected news. What she did know for sure was that she had to comfort her distraught daughter. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Oh my poor baby. Are you sure? What happened?”

Crying, Ginny merely shook her head.

Molly hugged Ginny tighter; making shushes noises and rocking Ginny as if she were still a babe. “What happened?” she asked again.

Still shaking her head, Ginny sobbed out, “I don’t know!” Pulling out of her mother’s embrace, Ginny summoned a handkerchief from out of her top dresser drawer and blew her nose. “I was moving some stuff over and he-”

“Wait. Wait. What stuff? What are you talking about?” Molly interrupted.

Flushing, Ginny stared down at her quilt--it was white with pink roses and pink trimming around the edges--as she twisted her handkerchief around her fingers and said nothing.

“Did Harry finally ask you to move in?” Molly clapped her hands together. “I didn’t know that! That’s wonderful!” Not that she condoned something like this before the two were properly married, but between Ginny’s job at the Prophet and Harry being one of the DMLE’s top Aurors, the two never seemed to have time to spend together.

“Actually, uh,” Ginny’s flush deepened, “he, uh-”

Disappointment washed through Molly. She planted her hands on her hips and glared down at the top of her daughter’s head. “Ginevra Weasley! Are you telling me that Harry didn’t ask you to move in with him?”

Ginny shook her head.

Dropping her hands, Molly sighed. So, it seemed as if her naïve daughter took it upon herself to move in with Harry without first speaking about it with Harry. Molly shook her head. Ginny must have been speaking with Hermione. It sounded like something her newest daughter-in-law would say. Both Hermione and Ginny were modern women. They were strong, proud, stubborn and independent. That was not a bad thing, just the opposite in fact, but as modern women, they overlooked the basic rules of being in a relationship. Some things are just not done. It was no wonder Ginny believed they had broken up. “Ginny.”

“But mom,” Ginny argued. “We’ve been together going on five years!”

Molly nodded. She was well aware of that. Oh, boy. Was she ever. She understood that Harry wanted to take things slow. As he once said, he and Ginny had all the time in the world. But even she was getting impatient with how slow the progress was. She was beginning to suspect there was more to it then having “all the time in the world”. Of course, she’d never said anything. She’d never told anyone, especially Ginny, of her suspicions. She figured things would work themselves out in time. So, yes, she understood her daughter’s exasperation. It was perfectly normal under the circumstances, but her frustration was no excuse for her impetuous. “I know that, dear, but Harry is a man.”

Ginny blushed red hot at that.

Molly chose to ignore the possible implications. “And as a man,” she continued, “there are, naturally, some things he is just not going to understand unless you beat him over the head with them and some times not even then.”

Ginny nodded. “Exactly! That’s what Hermione said.”

Ah! So Molly was right. “And so you thought the only way to move your relationship with Harry to the next level was to move into his house without his permission.”

“…Well…”

Molly could not believe the naivety of her daughter. “I know things between you two have been strained lately, but what you did was very stupid and obviously made things worse.”

Ginny dropped her gaze and nodded. “But,” she frowned, “why would it? If he loves me and wants to marry me-”

“It’s not that simple.” If only… Thinking the male mind worked the same way as a woman’s was an easy enough mistake to make.

“But why not?” Confusion lined Ginny’s face.

Molly giggled lightly and patted her daughter’s leg. “Because,” she answered in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning closer to Ginny, “Harry is a man dear. Not very fast on the uptake.”

Ginny tossed her head back and laughed loudly. “Thanks, Ma.”

“Of course! What are mothers for?”

Ginny laughed.

As Molly stood up, something small and cylindrical in shape from within one of the pockets of her apron banged against her leg. She reached in and pulled out a ring. It was the ring she’d found in the kitchen. Ginny’s engagement ring. “Here. You might need this.” She handed over the ring.

“Yeah. I think I just might,” Ginny agreed. She slid the gold band onto her left ring finger, admiring the emerald flanked on either side by a small white diamond. “Thanks Ma.” She looked up and spoke softly to her mother.

Standing in the threshold between her daughter’s room and the hallway, Molly smiled back at her youngest child. “Speak to him, Ginny.”

Ginny nodded. “I will.”

“Everything’ll work out fine. You’ll see.”

“I know they will.”

With a smile and a nod, Molly left, shutting the door gently behind her. She made her way down the stairs to the kitchen to retrieve her groceries. When she noticed that the carrots were missing, she sighed heavily and shook her head, cursing gnomes.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Ginny’s face fell. Misery enveloped her. It wrapped its arms around her and held her tight. Drawing her legs to her chest, she hugged her arms around her knees and dropped her face to her legs as tears filled her eyes, her throat constricted around a sob and her chest tightened.

“-and he chose Malfoy over me,” she whispered into the silence of the room against her jean-clad legs.

Her silent sobbing filled the room as her despair grew.

It wasn’t fair, she thought. It just wasn’t fair at all.

 

* * *

 

**Late Evening - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

“Oh hey,” Harry spoke up into the mellow silence that had enveloped the men.

He and Draco were in the parlor lounging in front of the stone hearth where a roaring fire was slowly burning. The flames danced and undulated beautifully, giving the quickly dimming room a soft glow and illuminating the hand carved mahogany mantel, but gave off no heat. They were slowly polishing off a bottle of wine and a fruit and cheese platter courtesy of Kreacher.

Harry was of a mind to think that the old, decrepit house-elf had a crush on Draco because Kreacher was never this nice or thoughtful when Ginny was over. In fact, Kreacher disappeared when she was around.

Sipping his wine, Draco made a noise that indicated he was listening.

“You remember that--what’s his name--that Lucas Mahoney or whatever it was?”

“You mean from the Jackson case?” Draco set his wine down on the side table besides the plush armchair he had confiscated and picked up a grape from the platter on the coffee table. “The one who didn’t fit the pattern?” He popped the grape into his mouth.

Harry nodded as he took a sip of his wine. “Turns out,” he said, lounging back in the corner of the sofa, “his real name was Eamon.” Harry pronounced the name “AY mon”.

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

“Guess he hated his name so much he changed it, but it hadn’t been made legal yet.”

“Eamon. Really?” Draco washed down a second grape with a sip of wine. “If I were him I would have done the same thing. I mean, what kind of name is Eamon?”

“Irish,” Harry deadpanned.

“Oh. Ha. Ha,” Draco shot back dryly.

Harry snickered. “People could say the same about your name you know. It’s not even a name. It’s the name of a constellation.”

Draco glared at Harry.

Harry saluted him with his wine glass.

“So,” Draco said with one last glare before turning away and picking a square piece of mozzarella cheese from the platter, “this guy--he strangled and sexually assaulted--what?--nine people before we stopped him?”

“Right. Aaron Baker, Bailey Calkins, Cadan D‘anna, Dana Eaton, Eamon Faatz, Fanny Gabriel, Gary Haenel, Harriet Ianni and Ian Jarvis (1).” Harry held up a finger for each of the victims of the monster Jack Jackson and tortured to death.

“Sick fuck.”

“Got that right.”

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Granger-Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Like after the second Muggle World War, once Voldemort was defeated, there was an influx of marriages followed by a baby boom. Ron and Hermione had been no exception as the June following Voldemort’s fall, they were married. It wasn’t anything fancy or elaborate; just a simple ceremony followed by dinner with family and close friends. But instead of starting a family like every other newly married couple was doing, Ron had gone to Auror Academy with Harry, much to the disappointment of Hermione who had decided to go back to school to sit her NEWTs. Even now that Ron and Hermione had gradated from their various institutions they had yet to start a family.

“We have plenty of time,” Hermione said at one point.

For the time being, both Ron and Hermione wanted to concentrate on their jobs; Ron was an Auror working for Harry who ran the Homicide Division of the Auror Department and Hermione worked in the DMLE as a solicitor alongside the Department‘s top barrister.

Yet, despite their demanding careers, Ron and Hermione seemed to be able to make time for one another. They appeared to be more in love now than they had when they were first married. Ginny envied them that. It seemed as if the closer her brother and Hermione became, the farther apart she and Harry got. Why was life so unfair? All she wanted was to get married, start a family and live happily ever after with her prince by her side. Was that too much to ask for?

She apparated in front of the one and a half story rural house where her brother and Hermione lived.

Hoping they were at home, Ginny strode up the narrow dirt path to the front door. She’d barely touched her knuckle to the wood when the door swung open an inch. Wary, Ginny stepped forward and pushed the door open. “Hello?” she called hesitantly. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “Hello?” she called out again in a louder voice. “Ron? Hermione?”

“Ginny?” called a female voice from the back of the house.

“Yeah it’s me,” Ginny called back.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps and moments later, a familiar figure appeared around the corner. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Ginny greeted her sister-in-law with a forced smile. It hurt to smile.

Hermione crossed towards her enveloped her in a hug. “Not that’s its not great to see you, Gin, but I was just about to head up to bed. What’s up?”

“Oh.” Ginny scratched at the back of her head sheepishly. She’d picked up the gesture from Harry. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized it was that late. I can come back in the morning-”

“Nonsense.” Hermione looped her arm through Ginny’s and led the younger girl down the short hall to the small room located towards the back of the house that she had confiscated as her home office. “It’s obvious something happened and you know my door is always open day or night.”

“Thanks,” Ginny sagged against Hermione as the tension vanished all at once. Tears of relief filled her eyes. She was not sure what she would have done had Hermione turned her away. She really needed to speak to someone about this. As much as she loved her mother, she couldn’t discuss this with her. “Where’s my brother?” Ginny inquired as she stepped into the meticulously--one could say obsessively--neat office despite the stacks of clutter that filled it. Organized chaos.

“Sleeping,” Hermione answered. “He has an early shift tomorrow.”

Ginny nodded as Hermione conjured a chair for her.

“Actually,” Hermione confessed as she rounded her desk, looking a little sheepish, “I put a sleeping drought in his tea.”

Wide eyed, Ginny spluttered. “What? Why? What happened?”

Hermione heaved a heavy, tried sigh as she dragged her chair around the desk next to Ginny’s. “I got into an argument with Harry this afternoon about something stupid and when I relayed to Ron what happened, he, well--he’s a little upset.”

Ginny nodded in understanding. Her littlest big brother was a bit of a hothead.

“Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Juice?”

“No thank you,” Ginny shook her head.

Once Hermione was settled in her chair, she inquired as to what her sister-in-law wanted to talk to her about. “Does this have to do with Harry?”

Folding her hands in her lap, Ginny hung her head and nodded.

Hermione said nothing, just folded her hands demurely in her lap and waited patiently.

“You know how we talked about me taking the initiative and moving in with Harry?”

Hermione winced. That was not exactly what she’d said or meant. “Oh, Ginny,” she moaned. “Tell me you didn’t.” What she’s said was to confront Harry. Hermione understood Ginny’s impatience and frustration with the rut her and Harry’s relationship seemed to be in--and yes, as women they sometimes had to take the initiative because men could be such clueless morons sometimes. As liberal and independent as she liked to think of herself as, even Hermione had to admit there was a fine line women shouldn’t cross. It had taken her quite some time to come to this realization.

Ginny winced. “Yeah,” she admitted in a small voice.

With a sigh, Hermione pushed it aside. What was done was done.

“He was already in a bad mood now that I think about it,” Ginny continued in that same demurred voice. “Now I know why.” Catching me bringing my stuff over just made things worse, she thought sadly. She really was an idiot. What had she been thinking?

Hermione cringed. “What happened?”

Ginny told Hermione about the argument. Afterwards, there was nothing but the buzzing of the insects.

“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Hermione finally said. “People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. You’re no exception,” she reminded the younger woman.

Ginny blushed. That was too true.

“And besides, we all know about Harry’s anger management problem.”

Ginny nodded.

“Harry is the epitome of a Gryffindor: he acts first, thinks later. You of all people should know that.”

That had Ginny laughing.

Hermione dropped her head in thought. “I’ve known Harry since he was eleven years old and if there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain about is that he’ll fight for his friends.” She lifted her head. “He’ll defend them to his dying breath--even if it means going up against those he cares about.”

That sounded exactly like Harry.

“Like you said, he was already in a bad mood, for which I apologize. That was completely my fault. Like I said, we--we had a bit of an--a disagreement-” Hermione winced at the choice of words. Understatement of the century, she thought. “-about his--association with Malfoy and he ended up saying--a few things before he stormed out and then you-”

“-had the misfortune of running into him directly afterwards,” Ginny finished with a wince.

Giving Ginny an apologetic look, Hermione nodded.

Ginny’s mind was reeling.

“Look,” Hermione was saying, “I know you hate Malfoy.”

That’s an understatement, Ginny snorted.

As if reading Ginny’s mind, Hermione snickered lightly. “I’m not overtly fond of him myself and Ron hates his guts, and he has every reason to, but not only is Malfoy Harry’s partner, like he told you, but Harry considers him a friend. So whether you like it or not, Malfoy is going to remain a part of Harry’s life and if you love Harry and want to remain in his life, this is just something we’re all going to have to deal with.”

Ginny bit her lip and glanced at a towering pile of books in the far corner that had to be held up with magic for gravity surely would have pulled the stack down long ago.

She wasn’t sure if she could do that--befriend Malfoy that was. There were just some things she wasn’t--couldn’t--refused to forgive Malfoy or his family for--not even for Harry’s sake. That was what she told Hermione.

Hermione gave her a sad little smile. “I know and that’s fine. Nobody said you had to, but for Harry‘s sake and for the sake of your relationship, you‘re going to have to learn to at least pretend, because trying to come in-between Harry and Malfoy or any of his other friends is only going to cause you heartache in the end. I should know,” Hermione continued. There was a sorrowful note to her voice now. “Both Ron and I have never liked Malfoy and we hated it when Harry started associating with Draco and then Harry said he considered Malfoy a good friend…we’ve tried talking to Harry about it, telling him how Malfoy was no good… but all it’s done is make things worse.”

Cursing, Ginny bent over and dropped her face in her hands.

“Look, Gin,” Hermione said, sliding to the edge of her chair. “What you should do is go talk with Harry, even if you have to bind him to a chair or something.”

Ginny giggled and lifted her head.

“Tell him what you told me. Talk things out.” Hermione emphasized the last part by punctuating each word as if it its own sentence. “Okay?”

Ginny nodded. “Alright. Yeah.”

Hermione smiled. “He loves you. You know that right?”

A warm feeling washed over Ginny. She nodded. “I do. I love him too.”

Both women stood up.

“Thing’s’ll work out. You’ll see,” Hermione whispered as she hugged Ginny.

“I know they will,” Ginny whispered back and she returned the hug. “Thank you. Really. For everything.”

“Of course,” Hermione said as she pulled back. “What’re sisters for?”

They shared a laugh.

Hermione walked Ginny back through the house in silence. Each was lost in her own thoughts. At the door, Hermione waylaid her sister-in-law with a hand on her shoulder. “Give Malfoy a chance,” she suggested.

Ginny’s eye twitched. She knew that if she wanted to keep Harry in her life, she had to polish up on her acting skills, but giving Malfoy a chance was outside her comfort zone.

“He’s not--He’s not such a bad bloke,” Hermione continued, seeing the hesitation on the ginger-haired girl’s face.

Ginny rounded on Hermione. “What?! Not so bad? What the fu-?”

“I saw them today,” Hermione was saying as if she hadn’t heard Ginny. She stared past Ginny’s shoulders at the night sky where a sea of stars twinkled majestically, knowing she probably shouldn’t say anything, but knowing she had to. “At the café.” She turned her gaze towards a furious Ginny. “I watched them--saw them interact.” She dropped her gaze to her slippered feet, gathering her thoughts. “It’s obvious--Malfoy seems to be the only one who can talk sense into Harry sometimes.”

The fury ebbed away at the words only to be replaced with a cold dread. It was the same feeling Ginny came to Hermione to get rid of. Now here Hermione was confirming what Ginny had already suspected. It was like a replay of what had transpired with her talk with her mother. Ginny felt nauseous.

“Like I said, talk to Harry. It’s obvious you have some things to talk about.”

Ginny could only nod.

“At this point, the only suggestion I can give you is to not make my mistake. If you force Harry to choose between you and Malfoy…He will choose Malfoy over you.”

The bottom fell out of Ginny’s stomach. This was not what she’d wanted to hear when she came over.

Somehow, Ginny made it home without splinching herself, undressed, crawled into bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Her last conscious thought was that she both dreaded and looked forward to seeing Harry in the morning.

As Hermione was crawling into bed besides a snoring Ron, she silently apologized to Ginny as she remembered what she’d witnessed back in Bannum Alley earlier that afternoon. She had a feeling that it was already too late. Harry just might have already chosen.

 

* * *

 

**That Night - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

With a glass of wine in one hand, Draco stood from the sofa and waltzed over to one of the built-in bookcases flanking the fireplace. Only a couple of the shelves had books on them. The rest of the space was interspersed with knickknacks.

From the sofa, Harry sipped his wine and watched Draco. Maybe it was the large consumption of alcohol he’d consumed that day, but he found his gaze roaming the other’s tall, lean figure with growing appreciation, lingering on the tight ass that filled out those fitted Muggle designer jeans almost a little too well.

Draco ran a finger across the spines of the books and paused over one with a burgundy-red cover. “The Adventures of Lucius Caecilius Iucundus,” he read. He cocked an eyebrow over his shoulder.

Harry shrugged, ignoring the warmth that spread across his cheeks.

Setting his wine down, Draco pulled out the book and flipped carefully through its yellowed pages. He could guessimate its age to be a little over two centuries old.

“I was given the book by a Mrs. Fredrick J. Smith,” Harry said. “It was during one of the very first cases Pieletska assigned me to.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Early one morning when Mrs. Smith woke to let her dog out, she found a body floating face down in the small pond located on her property. It turns out that she had a noggle-”

Draco marked his place with a finger and turned towards Harry. “A noggle?” He’d been under the impression that the Noggle inhabited the Shetland Islands; or used to at any rate. Last he heard, there hadn’t been a noggle spotted there in decades.

Harry nodded and took a sip of his wine. “Yeah. They appear only by water as a small gray horse with bridle and saddle, its tail curled up over its back-”

“Yes. Yes,” Draco said with a wave of his hand. He knew damn well what a noggle looked like. He wasn’t an idiot.

“Well, then you know that they’re usually fairly harmless-”

“Except to mills and idiots who think it’s cute to ride a miniature horse.”

Harry chuckled. “It turns out the guy Mrs. Smith found face down in her pond was a thief. Went by the name Thrasymachus.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

“His real name was Wendell,” Harry deadpanned.

Draco barked out a laugh. “Wendell?”

Harry laughed, his emerald green eyes sparkling in mirth. “He’d been on the run for at least a decade. Has hit hundreds of houses--both Muggle and magical--and the Aurors were no closer to catching him than when he first appeared on the scene.”

“Useless. All of them.”

Harry shrugged. “We speculate that this guy heard rumors of Mrs. Smith’s collection of antiques that included that book,” Harry waved a hand at the book Draco still held, “and that particular night he’d planned on a little shopping spree, but got, ah, waylaid, as it were, by the sudden appearance of the noggle.”

Draco snorted. “Idiot.”

“Again this is all speculation.”

“Of course.”

Seeing as “Thrasymachus” was dead, it was difficult to know what exactly the man was doing on Mrs. Smith’s property. It could be that this guy was just passing through.

“But whatever he was doing there, he saw the noggle and maybe thought it was nothing more than a miniature horse and decided to take it for a ride, but once he got on the saddle-”

“He couldn’t get off.”

“Right,” Harry said with a nod. “And thus drowned when the noggle immediately went into the water (2).”

Draco returned his gaze to the book clasped around his finger. “And as a reward, Mrs. Smith gave you this book?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah.” Noticing he was running low on wine, he reached for the wine bottle in the ice bucket and poured himself some more.

Opening the book to the page he‘d marked, Draco went back to flipping through the pages.

“It’s about this well-known Pompeian banker Lucius Caecilius Iucundus and his family on that August day when Mt. Vesuvius erupted.”

“Have you read it?”

“A little,” Harry confessed, “but it’s slow going since I’m not fluent in Latin.”

Draco nodded. “As with all Pureblood children, I was taught to speak Latin, as well as French, fluently,” he explained haughtily, “but it’s been awhile.”

“A bit rusty huh?” Harry teased.

“A bit,” Draco agreed with a twitch of his lips. He flipped to the last chapter. It was titled, “finis”. Without even reading the chapter, Draco felt it was safe to assume what happened. “iam nubes atra ad terram descendebat; iam cinis densissimus incinerate. plurimi Pompeiani iam de urbe sua desperabant. multi peribant (3),” he read. “Now black clouds were coming down to earth; now very thick ash was falling. Most Pompeians now about the city were becoming despaired. Many were dying,” he translated roughly. He mentally winced. It really had been a long time. Snapping the book closed, he slid it back onto the shelf. “A very depressing read Potter.”

Harry saluted Draco with his wine and a chuckle. “Even without knowing Latin, I could have told you that.”

“Yes. Seeing as it is about a man living in Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted and buried the town,” Draco said as he returned to the sofa besides Harry.

“Exactly.”

“Have you had it appraised at all?”

“No.” Harry set his glass on the coffee table.

“You should.” Draco downed the last of his wine and placed the now empty glass besides Harry’s. “Given its excellent condition and its rarity, you could probably get a fair price for it.”

Harry shrugged.

“I know some reputable dealers I can recommend.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just let me know.”

Having a book appraised was not very high on Harry’s list of priorities at the moment.

Silence enveloped the two men. It was a comfortable lull and not the least bit strained.

As Harry sat staring at the undulating flames dancing erotically within the fireplace, for aesthetic appeal rather than warmth this warm spring night, he sensed rather than felt movement besides him. That was when he found himself suddenly aware of Draco’s presence besides him. There was Draco’s arm thrown casually along the back of the sofa behind Harry’s head that Harry was certain was not there moments before. Warmth flooded his face. Suddenly feeling nervous for some inexplicable reason, Harry fidgeted and forcibly cleared his throat. Was it him or was the space between him and Draco growing smaller and smaller?

He jumped when a hand that did not belong to him settled onto his thigh just above the knee and ever so slowly started sliding upwards. Harry gulped. His pulse was racing. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to speak--to tell Draco to remove his hand from his person, but he couldn’t find the words. All that came out was the name of the man besides him who was currently in the process of molesting him.

“Draco.” It came out as a breathy whisper. It didn’t sound like his voice at all.

When the hand halted a hairsbreadth from his groin, Harry breathed a sigh. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. What he did know was that his pants were uncomfortably tight and causing certain parts of him to chafe.

“Har~ry.”

His name rolling off Draco’s tongue sent a pleasant tingle rolling through him. Or maybe it was the hand that was suddenly cupping him through his pants. “Oh, God,” he moaned, arching into the gentle, but firm touch that seemed to be burning its way through the layers of cloth between it and his aching cock.

Draco ran his thumb over the head of Harry’s pulsating cock.

Pleasure shot up Harry’s spine. He moaned again and thrust his hips into the touch.

His head was spinning. Merlin help him. He had no idea what was going on, but he wanted more.

He’d readily admit to finding Draco attractive. It was fact like the sky being blue and the grass being green. So what? Even the straightest of men would find Draco to be a good-looking bloke. He’d even admit to having several very erotic wet dreams staring the blond Adonis as of late. But that didn’t mean anything. Who didn’t have a homoerotic dream at least once? It was no big deal. Dreams weren’t meant to be taken literally after all. Just because he’d dreamt of this very scenario countless times didn’t mean that over the course of their post-Hogwarts relationship, he’d fallen in love with the man.

If that were the case, though, then why wasn’t he telling Draco to stop?

Panting, Harry rocked his hips in time to the hand jerking him off. He dropped his head back against the top of the sofa as the building pleasure overcame any doubts, questions, and uncertainties.

Harry watched Draco from hooded eyes as the blond haired blue eyed Potions Master slid off the sofa and sank to his knees in front of him. Draco looked up and caught his eye. Harry’s breath hitched.

Without taking his eyes away from the lust filled emerald ones, Draco unclasped Harry’s pants and lowered the zipper, being carefully not to get Harry caught.

Harry gulped. He clawed at the delicate fabric covering the cushions. His toes dug grooves into the floor.

Draco grabbed Harry’s cock, hard yet soft and throbbing, and freed it from its uncomfortable confinement. When he took the entire length into his mouth, worshipping it, loving it, Harry’s eyes rolled back as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him. Moans, grunts, and other nonsensical noise filled the otherwise quiet of the house.

Harry knew he should stop Draco before it escalated any further, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

 

**…To Be Continued…**

Brónach (BRO nakh): Traditional Irish name. Possibly meaning “sorrow”. Other spellings: Brona, Bronagh.

Heinin: Welsh name. Not sure what it means.

Magnus Hallucinari: Great Dream

 

**(1)** Get the pattern? First a male is killed, then a girl, then a boy, then a girl, etc, but there’s more to the pattern then that. Can you see it? Here’s a hint. Jack Jackson’s last victim would have been Zach Aaserud.

**(2)** Info from Magickal Mystical Creatures by D.J. Conway

**(3)** Taken from the fourth edition (2001) Cambridge Latin Courses Unit 1. Please excuse the crude translation.

 


	2. Day Two

**Advice 2: Wheel of Fortune**  
 **Sequel to:** Advice  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer** : I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** While a rift forms between the Golden Trio, and Harry and Ginny start having premarital problems, Harry and Draco are growing closer. When a Ministry official is assassinated and the prime suspect turns out to be Draco, just how close these ex-rivals have become is revealed.  
 **Warning:** AU, infidelity, romance, drama, slash, OC character death, bashing, possible OOCness, OCs, m-preg, sexual situations  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron. Mentioned: past Draco/Astoria, Astoria/OMC, Harry/Ginny, Ginny/Michael Corner  
 **Inserts:** recap from chapter 1  
 **A/N:** Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

**Last Time**

He’d readily admit to finding Draco attractive. It was fact like the sky being blue and the grass being green. So what? Even the straightest of men would find Draco to be a good-looking bloke. He’d even admit to having several very erotic wet dreams staring the blond Adonis as of late. But that didn’t mean anything. Who didn’t have a homoerotic dream at least once? It was no big deal. Dreams weren’t meant to be taken literally after all. Just because he’d dreamt of this very scenario countless times didn’t mean that over the course of their post-Hogwarts relationship, he’d fallen in love with the man.

If that were the case, though, then why wasn’t he telling Draco to stop?

Panting, Harry rocked his hips in time to the hand jerking him off. He dropped his head back against the top of the sofa as the building pleasure overcame any doubts and questions and uncertainties.

Harry watched Draco from hooded eyes as the blond haired blue eyed Potions Master slid off the sofa and sank to his knees in front of him. Draco looked up and caught his eye. Harry’s breath hitched.

Without taking his eyes away from the lust filled emerald ones, Draco unclasped Harry’s pants and lowered the zipper, being carefully not to get Harry caught.

Harry gulped. He clawed at the delicate fabric covering the cushions. His toes dug grooves into the floor.

Draco grabbed Harry’s cock, hard yet soft and throbbing, and freed it from its uncomfortable confinement. When he took the entire length into his mouth, worshipping it, loving it, Harry’s eyes rolled back as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him. Moans and grunts and other nonsensical noise filled the otherwise quiet of the house.

Harry knew he should stop Draco before it escalated any further, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER II: Day Two**

**Midnight - Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - London, England**

All the shops were closed for the night and the usually bustling streets were empty but for the random witch or wizard heading to or from the Leaky Caldron. Even Knockturn Alley was free of its more questionable clientele. The only exception was Saint Mungo’s, which was bustling even at this late hour. Despite the hustle and bustle, there was an underlying quiet.

Into that silent silence, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Later, when questioned, nobody would be able to identify who stepped out the elevator, or if anybody had even been on the elevator at all. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. The Killer preferred it that way, as he was here to end the life of Head Auror Heinin Pieletska, permanently.

Pieletska should have died in his office that morning from a stroke. Obviously, that had not gone as planned. If it hadn’t been for Auror Harry Potter and his quick thinking that was what would have happened. That was neither here nor there though. The Killer was more of a hands-on type anyway.

Stepping out of the elevator, The Killer glanced around just as it struck midnight. Pieletska’s room was supposed to be located on this floor. According to Intelligence, there weren’t any guards posted outside Pieletska’s room, which was an unusual move for the Head Auror as Heinin Pieletska was a serious paranoid schizophrenic. The man believed everyone was out to get him and therefore had bodyguards with him everywhere he went; even to take a shit--Pieletska reminded The Killer of a mild-mannered version of Fudge when rumors of Voldemort’s return started surfacing. Though, it made no difference either way. Guards or no guards, nothing and no one would be able to put a halt to this mission.

As it was the ambiguous time between yesterday and tomorrow, The Killer was surprised to see just how busy Saint Mungo’s was. It wasn’t nearly as busy as it was during the daytime, but there was still more employees running around than he’d expected at this time of night. Some of them were rather rambunctious as well. How did they expect their patients to rest with their merrymaking?

Taking a moment to familiarize himself with where he was in relation to Pieletska’s room, The Killer strode down the corridor confidently and slipped inside Pieletska’s room without being seen or stopped. Just as expected, there’d been no Aurors standing guard outside the room nor were they waiting in ambush within.

Perfect.

The Killer did make note of Brónach Pieletska fast asleep in one of the visitor chairs, though, her presence mattered little. She would never know he was even here.

The Killer ghosted towards the bed in which Pieletska slept a sleep from which he would never wake. “Good night sweet prince,” he whispered.

In a matter of seconds, Heinin Pieletska was no more.

The Killer slipped out of the room and vanished just as mysteriously as he’d appeared.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

Harry was not sure how it happened--any of it; not how he’d become such good friends with Draco Malfoy and especially not how he’d ended up naked in bed with Draco equally naked above him, covering every sweat slickened inch of skin with kisses.

It was mind-boggling.

Falling in love with Draco had been a different experience than it had been with Ginny. It hadn’t been love at first sight with either of them. In fact, he hadn’t realized that he was falling until he hit the ground. With Ginny, it started out as jealousy. He and Draco had started out as rivals, and then became acquaintances during the Death Eater trials. When Harry started consulting with Draco on various cases, they’d become friends of a sort. It hadn’t taken long for Harry to call Draco a best friend, much to the chagrin of just about everyone. Now they were lovers. During this long transition period, it’d been more than just the status of their relationship that changed. His feelings had as well. It was only now that he understood. The status of his and Ginny’s relationship, or lack thereof, made more sense as well now.

Draco made him happy. Without the blond at his side, he was cold and alone and wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and die. Draco made him smile until his cheeks hurt and laugh until he couldn’t breathe. Harry was always coming up with excuses to see Draco. The first few times Harry asked Draco to work with him as a consultant had been out of necessity, but all too soon, Harry found himself calling Draco in when there was no reason to bring him in on the case. More often than not, he’d call on Draco’s services just to get his opinion instead of asking Ron or one of the other Aurors who worked for him in the Homicide Division, which would have been more prudent. When out and about, Harry would hope to run into Draco or he’d see something in a shop window that would remind him of Draco. He’d hear jokes or other bits of trivia he’d remind himself he had to tell Draco or ask him to clarify.

When Draco finally entered him for the first time after what felt like an eternity of foreplay, there was pain and tears and a steady stream of cursing from Harry and soothing whispers from Draco. It was almost too much. Then he was being rocked and nothing else mattered. It was a steady rhythm that thrust nonsensical utterances out of his mouth, echoed by Draco above him and inside him and over him, and washed away the pain in wave after wave of pleasure so intense Harry wanted to cry. It enveloped him, filled him, and colored his world in a wash of color. Harry met Draco thrust for thrust, forcing him deeper, harder, faster. The pleasure built. As it intensified, so did their once steady rhythm. They cried out as it reached its pinnacle and exploded.

They rode out the pleasure.

Panting, his white blond hair plastered to his flushed and sweat drenched face, Draco collapsed on top of Harry who didn’t have the energy to grimace at the feel of his ejaculate sandwiched between them. He had to admit that the feel of Draco’s trickling out of his anus and down his thigh, though a bit strange, was a-freaking-mazing.

All too soon, Harry felt Draco hardening within him and blushed.

Draco rose up on his hands and knees in a sort of pushup motion and gazed down at him. His beautiful blue-gray eyes darkened with lust and desire and something else that had Harry’s blush darkening. Draco leaned down and captured Harry’s lips. Desire shot through Harry. Then Draco was pulling away, sliding out of him. Harry whined at the loss. With a devilish smirk and a snap of his hips, Draco entered Harry for the second time that night, forcing out a sharp passion filled cry, and all was delirium.

This cycle continued long into the night and into the early morning hours.

Draco had become his whole world. How this happened, Harry was still not sure, but it had and Harry wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - The Burrow - Outside Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

The Burrow was silent but for the occasional creak and groan. In through the open windows came the soothing sound of crickets and the throaty chortles from an owl as well as the glow of the moon. It illuminated the kitchen where the dishes were silently washing themselves. In the master bedroom, it shone upon a pale arm that was thrown over the side of the bed. In another bedroom, the moonlight sailed in through the open window and highlighted a shaking form that lay curled on its side under a thin white sheet, sobbing quietly into a pillow.

Even in sleep, Ginny couldn’t out run that cold dread.

“…Malfoy seems to be the only one who can talk sense into Harry…If you force Harry to choose between you and Malfoy…He will choose Malfoy over you.”

Those words echoed repeatedly in her mind, haunting her.

She loved Harry, always had, always would. She wanted things between them to work. She wanted him to want her, to love her, to hold her. She wanted to marry him and become Mrs. Harry Potter. She wanted to have his children and grow old with him. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake up besides him. She wanted what her parents had, what Bill and Fleur had, what Ron and Hermione had. Was that too much to ask?

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Hermione could not sleep.

Besides her, Ron tossed and turned, mumbling something or other that she could not make out before settling back down. Within seconds, his heavy snores filled the otherwise silent house. Rolling her eyes, Hermione elbowed her husband. In his sleep, Ron grunted and flipped onto his side. The snores halted briefly before starting up again. Turning onto her side with her back to her husband, Hermione reached for her wand and cast a nonverbal silence charm at the ginger-haired Auror. Instantly, blessed silence filled the house. Sighing, Hermione returned her wand to her bedside table and took to staring out the open window.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Ginny. With each replay, the fleeting unease would intensify. Ignoring it only made it worse. Trying to prove it was unfounded wasn’t working either. She kept flashing back to what she’d seen of Harry’s interaction with Draco and then comparing it to how Harry and Ginny acted when they were together.

It was no contest.

Harry was more outgoing when he was with Draco, happier, more like the Harry she used to know. With Ginny, Harry was becoming increasingly withdrawn. Hermione had chalked that up to Harry’s demanding career, but now she wasn’t so sure. Then, of course, look at how long it had taken Harry to ask Ginny to marry him. Four years. At this rate, it’ll take another four years for him and Ginny to plan their wedding. And they still weren’t even living together.

That really didn’t mean anything though, right? Right, she decided with renewed determination. All Harry and Ginny needed was to sit down and talk. A relationship could not thrive if there was no communication and with both of them being consumed by their chosen careers, it was difficult to have that, but it was something they would have to strive for if they wanted their relationship to work.

She ignored that rebellious voice in the back of her mind that asked, What if they don’t?

 

* * *

 

**Dawn - Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - London, England**

Brónach Pieletska was grateful to the staff at Saint Mungo’s for allowing her to remain by her husband’s bedside through the night.

Stiff from having fallen asleep in the chair, Brónach Pieletska sat up and groaned. She issued a steady stream of hisses as she worked out the kinks that had developed kinks of their own. Note, she thought with a sigh, never fall asleep in a chair again.

Standing, she shuffled to her husband’s bedside and sandwiched his hand between her own with her usual “good morning sweetheart” on her lips as she bent down to kiss him. The greeting died before it could even be formed and her downward movement stopped abruptly, ending with her bent over at nearly a ninety-degree angle over the bed.

Heinin’s hand was cold. Heinin was never cold, not even in the winter. She often joked with her husband that he had no need for a warming charm for he had his very own internal furnace keeping him warm. It was infuriating. While the rest of them were freezing their behinds off (even bundled up and with warming charms), her husband was roasty, toasty warm as he strutted around practically naked. So the fact that he was cool to the touch was not a good sign.

The beginning of panic clawed at her belly.

“Heinin?” she whispered over the thudding of her heart.

Her screaming sobs a few moments later had a horde of medical staff as well as security guards rushing into the room. They found Brónach Pieletska sobbing hysterically over her husband’s prone, pale form.

Try as they might, nothing anyone did helped. At six-oh-three in the morning, Heinin Pieletska, Head Auror, was pronounced dead.

 

* * *

 

**Late Morning - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

With a cup of coffee in one hand and The Daily Prophet in the other, Harry was sitting at the table in what Draco had taken to call “the breakfast nook” situated in the old solarium off the kitchen late the next morning. In the kitchen, Kreacher was working on breakfast.

“Anything interesting?”

Folding the corner of the paper down, Harry peered over the top to watch Draco strut barefoot into the solarium holding a folded sheet of parchment. As the sight of the older blond wizard, whose hair was still damp from his shower, Harry’s face grew warm as the events of the night before replayed in his mind.

Flat on his back with Draco over him in a mock pushup stance, thrusting into him with a snap of his hips, going deeper and harder and faster and Oh god, yes! Draco flipping them about so that Harry was riding him. Draco’s hands, lips, teeth and tongue groping, sucking, nipping and licking. Fingers probing and tweaking and dancing.

If the smirk on Draco’s face was any indication, he knew exactly what was going through Harry’s mind.

Harry tore he gaze away from the sight of Draco in a pair of fashionably distressed jeans and a black t-shirt with Metallica printed across the chest. They were Harry’s, but since Draco didn’t have any clothes other than the ones he’d worn the day before (and magic or not, Draco never wore the same clothing twice), he’d had to borrow some from Harry. Draco had had to resize the articles of clothing as the two of them weren‘t the same size. They now fit Draco like a glove, hugging him in all the right places.

“Morning,” Harry greeted his lover who rounded the table to kiss him. It was a brief press of lips, but it left Harry breathless and blushing nonetheless.

“Morning,” Draco returned with another smirk.

Harry cleared his throat. “Clarkson and Mabes ended some standoff in Kingston without any casualties and without altering the Muggles to what was going on,” Harry answered as Draco sat down opposite him. Folding the paper, he set it aside and then took a sip of his coffee. It was starting to cool so with a subtle wave of his hand, steam was rising from the mug of once again hot coffee.

Draco snorted as a cup of tea appeared on the table before him. “And why do I have the urge to say, ‘Bullshit‘?” he commented.

To put it simply, Clarkson and Mabes--mostly Clarkson--were total screw-ups and incompetent Aurors, but Pieletska kept them on because they were the grandchildren of two very influential Wizengamot members. The bullshit and nonsensical assignment were usually assigned to them, assignments the two managed to screw-up more often than not despite the supposed ease of said assignments. For example, several months back, they had to rescue a kneazle who had become stuck in an old coal shoot. They ended up burning down the house. No one was sure how that happened.

Harry laughed.

To keep from launching himself across the table and fucking Harry right there, Draco occupied himself with taking a sip of his tea. He practically moaned as the flavor of the tea exploded in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed. As haughty as Harry’s house-elf could be, it sure knew how to brew a perfect cup of tea. The tightening of his groin that was caused in direct correlation to Harry’s laughter was all but forgotten in the wake of the orgasm in his mouth.

“Good tea?” Harry teased, his emerald eyes dancing with mirth.

“Silence,” ordered Draco in all seriousness. “You‘re ruining the post-coital bliss.”

Harry snorted. “Git.”

Smirking, Draco relinquished the hold on the antique teacup.

The first time he was shown the eighteen piece tea set, it had come as no surprise to learn that Harry had procured it from an estate sale for a knut on the galleon and all because he‘d graced the family with his presence. If they were still boyhood rivals at Hogwarts, Draco would have teased and taunted Harry mercilessly. As it was, Draco couldn’t because he’d been able to purchase several priceless pieces from that same estate sale all because he could claim to be Harry Potter’s best friend.

“Much to my devastation, there was not a single article about me,” Harry continued as he shadowed Draco’s move and set his mug down on the table.

“Oh the horror,” Draco replied monotonically.

Harry laughed.

Draco’s cock twitched.

“No, seriously, you know how there’s usually at least one reporter camped out in front of the house?”

“Harry, you sneeze and it makes the front page.”

“Yeah, usually accompanied by bold headlines that claim I have only days to live,” Harry laughed. Not only The Daily Prophet, but other various wizarding rags--excluding The Quibbler--have tried to kill him off so many times, in various ways, Harry lost count. Apparently, nothing else happens in the Wizarding World. “There wasn’t anything about me and Ginny or that fight I had with Hermione.”

“Well, I am surprised there’s nothing about you and the Weaselette. You two are like Wizarding World royalty,” Draco sneered.

Harry would scoff at the simile, but it was an accurate comparison. He did smirk at the blatant jealousy though. Then he narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Draco gazed across the table at Harry with a look of innocent naivety on his face. “Like what?”

“Yeah. Not buying it.”

“I haven’t the foggiest clue as to what you refer,” Draco said lifting his teacup up and taking a sip.

“Uh huh.”

Hiding a smirk behind his teacup, Draco continued, “But I’m not surprised there’s nothing about what happened at Bannum. It is known for its discretion and privacy after all. It‘s why it’s so popular with the elite. It would be uncouth to invite people as uncivilized, ill mannered and rude as the paparazzi. Cockroaches of the Wizarding World they are.”

Harry nodded. He had to agree there. Squish one and two more pop up. “I’m surprised they don’t just sneak in though. They’d have a field day.”

Draco gave him a look that informed Harry how asinine that statement was. “Potter.”

Harry winced. Draco only called Harry by his surname when Harry said or did something stupid. He’d come to loathe hearing his family name uttered by Draco unless it was accompanied by his given name.

“Not possible. There are these things called wards.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“They’ve extended them to include those ‘journalists’ who are also animagi such as Rita Skeeter.”

Harry smirked at that.

The seemingly endless hearings and trials hadn’t begun until spring the year following the Battle of Hogwarts. Ministry officials hadn’t wanted a repeat of what happened after the First Wizarding War. They wanted to avoid imprisoning people, innocent or not, without a fair trial. They also wanted to avoid allowing the guilty to walk free because money exchanged the right hands. A majority of the populace, mostly those who hadn‘t seen any combat during the Second Wizarding War, believed the Death Eaters and their allies deserved no trials. That they should be put to death immediately upon their capture. Of course, those that remembered what had happened with Sirius made sure that didn’t happen.

It was also decided that there would be no gawkers, journalists or other media allowed in the courtrooms during the trials. Nobody but the Wizengamot, court reporter, defense, prosecution, witnesses and family were allowed. Everybody was instructed not to talk to reporters. It caused quite the uproar, but the Ministry hadn’t budged on the decision, for which Harry was thankful.

Despite the ban on media--professional, amateur or otherwise--details of the trials were being leaked to the media. Nobody was sure how this was happening. People were questioned under veritaserum and still the source of the leak couldn’t be found. Then someone suggested that there could be unregistered animagi, such as bug animagi for example, who were sneaking into the trials to observe the proceedings and report on the happenings to the masses.

By the time the next trial was held, a new ward was up.

Coincidentally, the leaks stopped.

Harry had spotted Rita Skeeter and her photographer not too long after and she’d been livid. He hadn’t been able to stop smiling the rest of the week.

“Oh yeah,” Harry continued, having just remembered. “Your ex-wife made the paper.”

“Astoria?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Apparently, she’s now engaged to the grandson of some muggle millionaire or something.”

That had Draco choking on his tea.

Harry chuckled at his lover’s reaction. It was identical to the one he’d had when he read the announcement. Only Draco managed not to spray the entirety of the solarium.

“What?! A muggle?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry shrugged. “That’s what it says in the paper. Don’t know how accurate the info is. We know how reliable news in The Daily Prophet is,” he continued as Draco exchanged his tea for the paper.

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered after tearing through the paper to find the article to which Harry was referring. Right there on page seven in bold headlines accompanied by a picture of his ex-wife who was plastered to the side of some muggle was the notice. According to the article, Astoria’s new fiancé was from a wealthy British muggle family and was heir to some chocolate company that made nearly a billion pounds the year before. “She really did it.”

“Did what?” Harry inquired, taking a sip of his coffee and enjoying the aromatic steam enveloping his face.

“Astoria--she threatened to marry a muggle if I divorced her,” Draco said without taking his eyes from the article he was meticulously reading through.

“She did what?” Harry exclaimed in disbelief before laughing at the idiocy of such a threat.

Shaking his head, Draco folded the paper back up and set it aside. “You know she was against the divorce.”

“Yeah.”

Not long after Draco aided Harry in drawing up the prenuptial agreement between Harry and Ginny, Draco made headlines by announcing plans to divorce his wife of two years, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass. He gave irreconcilable differences as his reasons and left it at that. Now Harry wondered if Draco had had feelings for him even then.

It wasn’t just Astoria, but the entire Greengrass family had been in an uproar. Draco’s parents had not been too happy either, but they stood behind their son and heir’s decision.

There’d been a long drawn out court battle where Astoria’s name had been dragged through the mud at every opportunity.

“And how does threatening to marry a muggle get you to remain married to her?”

“No idea.”

Harry chuckled. Too much inbreeding, he decided. It made purebloods brainless morons. “What’s that?” he asked with a nod at the parchment sitting on the table by Draco‘s arm.

“The answer we were waiting for.”

Harry frowned before his eyes lit up. “Oh! You mean from your contact?”

“Yeah. Said he’ll meet us same place same time this afternoon, but he wants 100 more.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course he does. “Surprise surprise, but does he have the info we need.”

“That’s what he said.”

Harry nodded.

The latest case Harry and Draco were working on had fallen into Harry’s lap quite by accident. When they’d gone to question a man suspected to have been the sole witness in the death of a prominent businessman, they’d discovered he’d been rushed to Saint Mungo’s the night before with severe abdominal cramps and bloody stool. By the time Harry and Draco arrived that afternoon, the witness was dead. According to the husband, their witness purchased a banned fertility potion off the Black Market. Toxicology reports backed his claim.

The fertility potion was invented several years ago by a Potions Master by the name of Wilhelm Cyril Wilhelm in order to aid infertile or struggling couples trying to have children. It was banned because three out of four of the test subjects during the clinical trials died because of complications due to unexpected side effects. Most of those who survived were rendered barren. There were a handful of participants who had no ill side effects and who claimed the fertility potion had indeed worked; it’s suspected these couples received placebos, but there is no evidence to prove either way.

Harry and Draco went to question Potions Master Wilhelm, but the man and his notes were gone. Since there was no evidence that suggested that foul play was involved in the Potions Master’s sudden disappearance, they were working with the theory that the Potions Master was involved in the illegal distribution of his banned potion. Even though the man himself has disappeared, there have been several raids that resulted in some arrests, but they were all minor lackeys who knew nothing. All leads have since dried up.

That Draco’s contact wanted to meet was a good sign. Maybe they’d be able to apprehend the Potions Master or at least someone who knew where to find him.

Two loaded plates floated down onto the table before Harry and Draco just then. The sight of fresh fruit, bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast had both men drooling.

As they ate, they talked of nothing of great importance. They basked in the warm sunlight pouring into the solarium turned breakfast nook and enjoyed the other’s company.

Not once did it occur to Harry that he hadn’t once thought of Ginny.

 

* * *

 

**Afternoon - Knockturn Alley - London, England**

They were to meet their contact, who referred to himself as “Sting”, in Knockturn Alley between Al C. O’Hol’s Liquor Store and A. Tobacco Shop.

They’ve used Sting so frequently in the year since they teamed up that they’ve come to rely on him to an almost unhealthy degree. They often joked that if anything happened to their informant, they wouldn’t be able to close another case. It was an over-exaggeration, of course, but that was how much they relied on the information Sting fed them.

In the beginning, Sting use to solely be Draco’s runner. In exchange for finding certain rare and hard to find ingredients, Draco had provided a substantial remuneration in return. Then Sting had stumbled upon some information that related to a case Harry was working on. It happened to be one of the first cases Draco consulted on. Now Sting did double duty as both runner and informant.

He’s since proven himself both reliable and trustworthy.

Unfortunately, the price for Sting’s information was steadily increasing. Sting claimed that phishing around for the information they needed was becoming increasingly dangerous. Word of his exploits had gotten around and nobody wanted to talk to a rat. He’d made many enemies. Many would love to see him dead. It wasn’t as if Harry and Draco weren’t sympathetic to the man’s plight or didn’t believe his story, because they were and did. Sting could very well be telling them the truth, it wouldn’t surprise either Harry or Draco, but fear for his safety wasn’t the only reason behind Sting’s demand for more money. Sting had a serious drug habit that Harry believed began as a direct result of being labeled as a rat.

As Harry and Draco entered the open square at the end of a particularly narrow thoroughfare, whose centerpiece was a fountain that has been broken longer than it’s worked, they caught sight of movement in the alley between the liquor store and the tobacco shop. They headed in that direction.

Other shops in what had once been the main square in Knockturn Alley included a secondhand goods shop, an adult bookstore and some sort of pub that had no windows and no door. They only knew it was a pub by the sign creaking lazily.

“So,” Draco drawled as they entered the shadow-filled alley, “what’s this about Potions Master Wilhelm?”

His eyes darting everywhere but to either of them, Sting was fidgety and twitchy and was constantly pinching at his nose. “Money first. Then you get your info. This be hot off the presses stuff I got here.”

Draco sighed. “Isn’t it always?”

Sting shook his head and opened his mouth.

There was a loud bang somewhere off in the distance, sounded like a potion had exploded to Draco, and Sting jumped. Even in the darkness of the alley, Draco could see what little color there was on the junkie’s face drain away instantly. He even yelped and started dancing about as if his ass were on fire.

Draco snapped his fingers to get the guy’s attention. “Hey! Hey! Over here.” He waited until Sting was, mostly, looking at him. “You know the drill. Tell us what you know about Wilhelm and this fertility potion of his that’s made its way to the Black Market then you get your money.”

Sting shook his head vigorously. “Hell, no, man. Like I said, this be hot stuff. Nuclear even. As in, it can fuck up a lot of VIPs’ day. Know what I mean?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a startled glance.

“VIP as in Ministry workers?” Harry asked over a racing pulse.

Again, Sting shook his head. “That be all you get for free.”

Draco started for his wand, but Harry grabbed his arm and shook his head when the blond glanced sharply at him. Sighing, Draco stepped aside and waved Harry forward.

Sting was greedily watching as Harry reached into an inner pocket in his black leather motorcycle jacket Draco had bought for him the week prior, pulling out a red cloth bag the size of the width of his hand. The small bag appeared empty, but in reality had an expansion charm on it so that the entirety of Sting’s payment could fit inside without him having to lug around a giant money sack.

Sting very nearly ripped the small cloth bag out of Harry’s hands. Holding the bag close to his chest, he backed up several steps and gazing about, stuffed the bag into an inner pocket of his scuffed up robe.

“Not even going to count it Sting?” Draco sneered.

“Naw. You good for it.”

Draco opened his mouth to make another retort, but an elbow into the gut had him rethinking that plan.

Harry hissed, “We don’t have time for this.” Pushing aside his partner, who was rubbing his abdomen, grumbling about something or other, and giving him the evil eye, Harry turned towards Sting. “What’s this about VIPs?” If these VIPs that Sting was referring to did involve members of the Ministry, it would explain so much. Including why nobody had been assigned to work this Black Market ring. If certain members of the government were involved in the illegal trade of goods then of course they wouldn’t want to see it shut down. They would lose venture capital as well as their freedom.

His eyes darting up and down the alley as if they had a life of their own, Sting stepped forward and lowered his voice as he said, “What I heard, these VIPs be getting kickbacks for pretending they see nothing, for overlooking certain deals that go down. They make certain things and people disappear, lose paperwork, grease palms. Know what I’m saying? In return, they get a cut of the action, a generous percentage.”

Harry stared wide eyed over Sting’s shoulder at magical graffiti on the wall--a black generic dragon that was weaving in and out of a phrase that from where Harry was standing, he couldn’t make out--while his mind started to put bits and pieces together.

“Dirty Ministry officials,” Draco muttered in disgust, “why am I not surprised.” He turned towards Harry. “What the hell have you gotten us involved in Potter?”

Distracted by the thoughts formulating in his mind, Harry muttered, “One hell of a conspiracy,” before turning towards Sting. “You hear about any of these VIPs possibly being Aurors? Maybe someone high up?”

“I got no names, but I hear something like that yeah.”

Draco looked at Harry sharply. “What are you thinking?”

Dragging his fingers through his hair, Harry swore. There was a saying that said there were no coincidences. He was starting to believe that to be true.

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head. There were too many thoughts circling in his head, too many connections being made at once. He felt as if his circuits were overloading. What he needed was to go home and organize his thoughts into a coherent realization that he could then express to Draco for his opinion.

He never got the chance.

There was a noise behind them and before either Harry or Draco could react, a group of red robed Aurors appeared out nowhere with their wands drawn and pointed at them. They started shouting orders punctuated quite frequently with very clever swear words, their voices overlapping each other.

It was chaos.

Harry glanced at each and every single one of the seven men surrounding them. He memorized their faces, their stances, the way they gripped their wands and wore their robes. He committed to memory every single detail that he could. This happened in an instant and without conscious thought.

“What the fuck?” Draco exclaimed in confusion and irritation as he glanced about.

“What’s going on here? What is this?” Harry demanded, stepping forward.

His progression was halted when half of the Aurors’ trained their wands on him. His hands went up. It was only then that he realized that the Aurors hadn’t been pointing their wands at them but at Draco. What the fuck was going on? He and Draco had joked the day before about Pieletska trying to pin his stroke on either or both of them as some sort of assassination attempt. He hadn’t really thought Pieletska would have the balls to actually go through with it though

Was that why they were here then? To arrest Draco for somehow causing Pieletska to have a stroke? Or were these the VIPs Sting just mentioned? Did they think he and Draco knew too much? Were they here to silence them?

But, no, that couldn’t be it.

There was nothing that could have been slipped into Pieletska’s morning tea that could have mimicked the effects of a stroke or caused him to have one. Even if there were, it would have shown up on one of the multitude of tests Saint Mungo’s no doubt ran.

Unless an anomaly had shown up and they were blaming Draco for the presence of the anomaly. The why was easily explainable. Pieletska had been trying, unsuccessfully, for the past five years to find some way to send Draco to Azkaban. Wouldn’t surprise him if the man had his own secret army who all believed in the same paranoid beliefs he did.

It would also serve as an excuse to find out exactly what he and Draco knew if these Aurors were part of those supposed VIPs. Maybe some unfortunate “accident” would befall both he and Draco. That way, their unofficial investigation into the Black Market would be no more and the VIPs could continue as before.

Or maybe Harry saw shadows where there weren’t any.

“Do you have idea who we are?” Harry continued heatedly. The one day he left his badge at home… “Do you have any idea what you just interrupted? We are the middle of an invest-”

Ignoring Harry, one of the Aurors stepped forward. “Draco Malfoy,” he said loudly and clearly, “you are under arrest-”

“What?!” both Harry and Draco exploded.

“-for the murder of Head Auror Heinin Pieletska,” the Auror continued as if he hadn’t be interrupted. “You have the right to remain silent. Any…”

Draco did not fight as several of the Aurors came forward and bound his hands behind his back. He was too shell-shocked. They searched his person and took his wand that had been secured to his forearm in a disillusioned holster, and then marched him out of the alley and out of sight.

Harry, meanwhile, watched flabbergasted as the scene unfolded before him. His head was spinning. So many thoughts and emotions were swirling around inside his mind. At the same time, his mind was blank. What the hell just happened?

He never noticed that sometime during the confusion, Sting had vanished.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

When the wards let her through without any trouble, Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Given their fight the day before, she’d been sure Harry would change them to keep her out. That he hadn’t was a good sign. Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe things between her and Harry weren’t as bad as she’d made them out to be. Maybe her fears were unfounded. Maybe she had nothing to worry about after all.

With a renewed sense of hope, she approached the front door, knocked and waited. And waited. Confusion and disappointment flooded through her as her knock went unanswered. She moved to the window and peered into the house. There was no movement from within.

Harry was supposed to have off. Maybe he’d gone out. Doing some shopping perhaps? Harry hadn’t mentioned anything about having made plans. It could be he was up in his attic-turned-office doing some work on one of his cases. It wouldn’t surprise her. When on a case, Harry gave all he had to it. Everything else was thrown by the wayside. The man was obsessed. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. Ginny lost count of how many times she’d had to drag his behind to the table. If it was up to him, Harry would work himself into a hospital bed and even then, he’d still be on the job. Given his work history, it made sense that he’d not hear someone at the door.

She returned to the door and knocked again. Harder this time. “Harry,” she called. “It’s me!”

Swindon was essentially a Muggle city, but the section where Harry lived was principally magical, so there was no reason for Kreacher to not answer the door, especially when he had to have sensed her passing through the wards, but even the retched little house-elf was AWOL. Then again, that vile, disgusting creature’s whereabouts were none of her concern, but it would have been nice to be welcomed inside seeing as she was Harry’s fiancée. Of course why would this time be any different from the countless other times she’s been here?

Digging into her purse, she pulled out the Muggle house key Harry had given her when he moved in. When she turned the key in the lock, not only did she hear the shifting of the tumblers unlocking the Muggle deadbolt, but felt the wards fall. Palming the key, she opened the door, stepped inside and shut the door behind her. The wards fell back into place immediately. According to Harry, if someone tried to get into the house without using the house key, the wards would trip and trap the culprit until Aurors arrived.

“Harry,” she called. “Kreacher!”

Ginny strolled through the foyer, noticing her boxes were gone. She’d have to ask Harry where they were. Guess that was something else they had to talk about. She definitely had to apologize for trying to move in without consulting him about it. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time. Hindsight told her the opposite. Though, after being together for as long as they have, she felt as if they should be living together, especially now that they were engaged. But of course that was something else they would have to talk about.

“Harry! You here? Harry,” she called out as she waltzed into the living room. The house was still and silent. It appeared Harry wasn’t home after all and that Kreacher was once again ignoring her. Sighing, she settled onto the sofa with every intention of waiting for Harry. Come hell or high water, they were going to talk.

 

* * *

 

**Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

Shock and disbelief had quickly given way to anger.

As Harry made his way through the Auror Department to his office in the Homicide Division, it was taking all he had to not upend everything and everyone he came across as if he were five years old. Acting like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum would accomplish nothing other than getting his ass suspended or quite possibly even fired, hurting Draco’s “case” in the process.

Besides, just because Pieletska was taking an extended leave of absence didn’t mean that he still didn’t have eyes everywhere; that group of Aurors who arrested Draco being case in point.

Pieletska has been looking for an excuse to get rid of Harry ever since he learned of Harry’s enrollment in Auror Academy. Harry being caught destroying Ministry property was all the justification Pieletska needed to fire Harry once and for all.

With Harry’s credibility destroyed, Pieletska would then be free to go after Draco.

That man really was a piece of work.

As Harry stormed into the Homicide Division, the bullpen fell silent. He didn’t notice. “Weasley. My office,” he barked over his shoulder.

It was just a year ago that Harry had been promoted by the Head of the DMLE to lead the newly created Homicide Division, replacing his old partner who had been transferred to the equally new Narcotics Unit. When the position became available and candidates were considered, Pieletska had immediately rejected the idea of offering Harry the promotion, even though he’d more than earned it, more so than any of the others he recommended. In the end, the Head of the DMLE went over Pieletska’s head and promoted Harry himself. Pieletska had not been too happy about that. Just one more thing for which to hate Harry.

One brave soul gulped nervously and sweating profusely, stepped forward. “Uhm, sir, he isn’t here.”

Harry’s angry stride halted mid-step. Spinning around, he gave the Auror who had spoken the once over.

Ross Rosenstein, originally assigned to the Special Victims Unit, but asked for a transfer after only a month. He was one of the tallest non-half-giants Harry had ever seen at a little over six feet tall, weighing in at close to two-hundred pounds. Other than his height, Rosenstein didn’t really stand out. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Quiet, but diligent. The perfect Auror.

After graduating from Auror Academy, much to Ron’s dismay, Harry and Ron weren’t allowed to partner up. Each Rookie Auror is assigned to a Veteran Auror for in the field training. Afterwards, when the Veteran Auror feels his trainee is sufficiently competent enough, the Rookie Auror is oftentimes reassigned to a different partner, though there are times when the rookie and the veteran stayed partnered up until one got transferred, which was what happened to Harry. Ron had partnered with Rosenstein until the two had a falling out. Ron was currently in-between partners. Harry was thinking of assigning him a rookie trainee.

“Who isn’t?”

“Weasley, sir.”

Harry turned towards Ron’s cubicle, which was the closest to his office. Sure enough, it was empty. He scanned the bullpen, but didn’t see him. “Where is he?”

“Candela, sir.”

Harry swore softly. “Contact Saint Mungo’s,” he ordered as he started towards his office, “get Head Auror Pieletska’s current condition. I don‘t care how many heads you have to crack. I want to know everything they know.”

“Sir?”

“Did I stutter Rosenstein?”

“No, sir.”

“Thought not.”

The door to Harry’s office opened before him and closed behind him like those automatic doors in the Muggle world. It was nothing knew. His magic at times had a mind of its own, especially when fueled by his emotions. He had just enough control over it to keep from blowing up some poor innocent bystander, but that was it. Hermione thought all he needed was more practice and refused to believe otherwise when he stated again and again that it wasn’t as simple as that, at least not for him. It was like his hair. It did what it wanted when it wanted. Period.

He marched around his desk and collapsed into his chair. Leaning his elbows on the desktop, he dropped his face into his hands. He wanted to punch something, but he was fresh out of something. Besides, this was neither the place nor the time. Getting hold of himself, he pushed himself up and went to the fireplace. First things first. He had to contact Draco’s lawyer. Then he had to figure out what the fuck was going on so he could get Draco out of custody and then they could go home and work out their frustration together. The thought of just how they would accomplish that had Harry shivering in delightful anticipation. His trousers grew suspiciously tight.

Clearing his throat, he pulled out his wand and lit a fire and then snatched a pinch of floo powder from the ceramic bowl on the mantel and tossed it into the fire. The undulating flames momentarily swelled with crackles and pops before dying back down. They were the same as before only now they were green. Kneeling, he stuck his head into the flames and called loud and clear, “Hedgerow, Bush and Verge.”

Moments later, he was gazing into a moderately sized reception area decorated in warm neutral tones with plants placed strategically. A woman in a pinstriped suit was sitting at a desk directly across from the fireplace. “Miriam,” he called out.

Startled, the woman’s head snapped up and around. When she spotted Harry, she sighed wearily. “Again?”

“Unfortunately.”

There must have been something in his voice or on his face because she stiffened. “What is it? What happened?” she demanded.

Harry told her what had taken place earlier, including his suspicions while she took notes.

Miriam let loose a string of colorful and very creative swear words once he finished. “Okay. I’ll inform Edward what’s going on.”

“Thanks, Miriam.” He closed down the connection and sat back.

Edward Hedgerow of Hedgerow, Bush & Verge, was one of the best attorneys in Britain. He’d successfully defended Draco from Pieletska numerous times over the past year alone.

Sighing, he dropped his face in his hands. He scrubbed his hands over his face, before standing up and turning towards the door when a knock sounded. “Enter.” His bark was all but gone. Now he just sounded tired.

The door opened and Rosenstein poked his head into the office. “Sir?”

Suddenly wide-awake, Harry snapped to attention. “Report.”

Rosenstein stepped into the office and shut the door firmly behind him. “Sir. I contacted Saint Mungo’s as per your orders.”

“And?” Harry prodded as he crossed the office to his desk.

“Head Auror Pieletska…” Rosenstein faltered, briefly overcome by his emotions before he was able to school his expression. “Head Auror Pieletska,” he began again, “was pronounced dead early this morning.”

Harry’s shot to his feet. “What? He died? How…?” Less than twenty-four hours ago, Healer Ó Beacháin assured them that Pieletska would be fine. That his stroke hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Had they missed something? Were there complications? Had he suffered another stroke? Only this one fatal?

He’d thought that Auror who’d arrested Draco earlier had misspoken when he charged Draco with murdering Pieletska and had instead meant attempted murder, possibly by slipping some sort potion into Pieletska’s morning tea that caused the stroke that very nearly did kill him. Guess not. They really had arrested Draco on suspicion of murder. But why? On what evidence?

“Natural causes, sir.”

Relief swept through Harry so fast, he swayed. It wasn’t that he’d doubted Draco’s innocence. He knew that Draco was not guilty. How? Because he was Draco’s alibi. They two of them were otherwise preoccupied all night. He had the marks, and the sore ass, to prove it. But at least with Pieletska’s death being ruled due to natural causes, there was no evidence to distort to frame Draco. “What about an autopsy? Toxicology?”

“Completed about an hour ago. Both are clean. There isn’t any sign of foul play.”

“Are they absolutely sure it was natural causes?”

“Yes, sir. They called in an independent ME and Potions Master to double check the findings. They concur with Saint Mungo’s conclusions that Head Auror Pieletska passed away sometime during the night in his sleep. There was no trace of a potion in his system or magical residue from a spell.”

Harry collapsed back into his chair.

“They’re sending over copies of his medical file.”

“Good. Good,” Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Rosenstein left Harry to his thoughts.

Sitting back, Harry started to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped himself. Instead, he laced his hands behind his head and frowned up at the ceiling where several memos soared. He ignored them.

It was beginning to look as if his theory from earlier wasn’t so much of a paranoid conspiracy dreamt up by an overactive imagination and one too many Muggle films after all.

No, something fishy was definitely going on and he was determined to find out what.

 

* * *

 

Edward Hedgerow, Joshua Bush and Lindsay Verge were infamous in their own right individually, so when all three proceeded Harry into the interrogation room where Draco was being held and questioned, two very different emotions were born. From Draco there was relief. From the team of Aurors crowded within the tiny, windowless box-like room there was fear disguised as anger and annoyance.

“That will be all gentlemen,” Edward Hedgerow announced briskly as he swept across the room in two steps to stand besides his client, “thank you.”

One of the Aurors stepped forward. Harry recognized him as the same one from the alley who’d read Draco his rights. He was also the one who’d had his face pressed so close into Draco’s when they first entered that it could have misconstrued as kissing. Which meant that it’d been this guy’s dulcet tones they’d heard from out in the hall.

“Counselor, your client is in some serious trouble.”

“And the charges?” Edward Hedgerow asked as his partners crowded behind him.

“Murder,” sneered another Auror from the back who’d been pushed almost out into the hallway by the sudden influx of bodies.

“And whom, may I ask, is my client suspected of murdering?”

“We suspect nothing,” spit a third Auror from the middle of the pack. “We know Malfoy is guilty.”

“Of course you have evidence,” Joshua Bush stated, “to back up this claim of yours.”

“And you never answered the question,” Lindsay Verge added. “Who is it that our client is suspected of murdering?”

Harry smirked at Verge’s deliberate emphasis. He was leaning against the wall besides the door with his arms crossed, taking in the show. With Hedgerow, Bush & Verge on the case, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

“Head Auror Heinin Pieletska was found dead in his hospital bed early this morning,” the lead Auror said.

That was where Harry came in. He stepped forward and produced the medical file Saint Mungo’s had just sent over. The Aurors watched him warily and with unconcealed disgust as he pushed through them to slam the file down onto the table.

He caught Draco’s eye and smirked. Draco nodded back, the same smirk mirrored on his slightly paler than normal face. Harry frowned at the discoloration on Draco’s left cheek. His emerald eyes narrowed. Fury swept through him. He rounded on the sorry pathetic excuses for Aurors and felt a small thrill when they flinched at the sight of the obvious rage bursting across his face. Harry dialed it back enough so that he could think clearly. After all, it would do them no good if he blew them all to kingdom come.

“What I have here, gentlemen, are the records from Saint Mungo’s pertaining to the Head Auror‘s admittance, including a copy of his autopsy, toxicology and magic residue reports. I myself also contacted the hospital administrator and had a nice chat with him. Know what he told me? He told me the same thing he claimed to have told you; that Head Auror Pieletska died of natural causes. He said, and I quote, ‘We have at this time, no evidence to suggest that Head Auror Heinin Pieletska’s death was the result of foul play. He just fell asleep and never woke up.’ End quote.” Harry swept his gaze from one Auror to the other. “So, pray tell, gentlemen, how Draco Malfoy could possibly be responsible for the death of a man whose death was a natural occurrence.”

“It’s obvious,” the Auror in the back spit with a sneer worthy of a Malfoy.

“Enlighten me.”

The Auror, a man in his late forties with a sprinkling of grey in his dark brown hair and contempt in his equally dark brown eyes, pushed through his fellow cohorts to stand toe to toe with Harry. He eyed the captain of the Homicide Division with open disgust.

Not intimidated in the least, Harry merely raised an eyebrow.

“He’s a filthy Death Eater.”

Harry waited in silence for the man to continue, but it quickly became apparent that there was nothing more to the man’s argument. “That’s it?” Admittedly, he was disappointed. He’d been expecting some sort of well thought out argument.

“You arrested my client for a murder that did not even occur because he was a Death Eater six years ago,” Edward Hedgerow summarized. His voice was emotionless as he spoke, but Harry knew all three attorneys were equally disgusted and angry.

“We may not be able to prove it, but he is guilty,” the lead Auror snapped pointing at Draco who merely cocked an eyebrow in return. This Auror was the same age as the other one--late forties, early fifties--with dirty blond hair and deep blue eyes filled with rage. “He killed Pieletska.”

“He is a Potions Master,” the third Auror said. Unlike his brethren, this guy was calm, cool and collected. His voice and face were expressionless and emotionless. There was no telling what he was thinking or feeling. “He has the skills to create a new potion that could have simulated the affects of natural death. All he had to do was sneak into the hospital and somehow get the Head Auror to ingest it. Given that the Head Auror had no guards posted, as he usually does, and the skeletal staff at the hospital at night, it is conceivable Mr. Malfoy could have snuck into the hospital, made it into the Head Auror’s room, slipped him the potion and snuck back out without being seen.”

Harry was impressed. This guy was good. It was too bad his talent was being wasted as Pieletska’s personal flunky.

“My client had no involvement in creating a potion such as that if one does indeed exist,” Edward Hedgerow said after a brief conference with Draco who was equally impressed this particular Auror’s reasoning, as false as they are.

Conceiting the point, Harry inclined his head. “True. Draco does indeed have the necessary skills to create such a potion; he is a genius after all, but he hasn’t created or has anything in development that when ingested would simulate the affects of a natural death. As his partner, I would be the first person to know if it were. You can even go search his laboratory. Rip it apart. You won’t find anything,” he continued over Draco’s protestation. “But this doesn’t have anything to do with Pieletska, does it?”

Though he had no proof, Harry knew these guys were dirty; they were part of the Black Market ring he and Draco have been after. Harry was sure of it, though he’d need more evidence before he went pointing fingers. In the meantime, given the one Auror’s obvious prejudice, Harry could play another card.

“Oh? And what does it have to do with Auror Potter? Why would we arrest a man for a murder that never occurred?”

“Easy. I was called into Pieletska’s office yesterday. He told me he received ‘an anonymous tip’ that ‘accused Draco Malfoy of hording illegal Dark artifacts purchased off the Black Market’ and as his partner, he wanted me to participate in an undercover operation to ‘bring him down once and for all’.”

The admission had the other three Aurors eying Draco Malfoy in a suspicious new light.

“Of course, we all know this claim is bogus and called in by Pieletska himself who admitted that was the case because Draco was a ‘nuisance’ who should have been given the Kiss right along with every other witch and wizard that aligned themselves with Voldemort.”

There was a grumble of agreement from the three Aurors. Harry had a feeling that they weren’t agreeing to his argument that Pieletska filed a false complaint, again, just so he could put Draco in Azkaban because of whom he “chose” to associate with during the war. Instead, they were agreeing that Draco should have been given the Kiss. Harry’s antipathy for his fellow Aurors was overwhelming.

“Alright,” Harry said with renewed vigor. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a lid on his emotions. “According to the hospital, they put Pieletska’s death sometime around midnight, so even if he’d been murdered, which he wasn’t because there is absolutely no evidence corroborating his death was anything but natural, Draco still wouldn’t be responsible because he has an airtight alibi for the time of his death.”

There was a snort.

“Pretty convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

“Take it however you will,” Harry said.

“And just what is this supposed airtight alibi?” the lead Auror snarled.

“Me,” Harry replied easily.

The three Aurors exchanged a skeptical glance. “You?”

“And we’re supposed to believe this supposed alibi?” the second Auror spit.

“You and Mr. Malfoy are partners Auror Potter,” the calmer third Auror, said, “and it’s not unheard of for partners to alibi each other out of questionable situations.”

“Be that as it may,” Harry conceited the point, which was all too true, “I am not one of those partners. If I even suspected Draco was involved in something illegal, I would give him up in a nanosecond, but as it is, he isn’t because I know for a fact that Draco has a solid alibi.”

“And what exactly were the two of you doing at midnight last night that would give him such an airtight alibi for the time of Pieletska’s death?”

“Having sex.”

The three Aurors sputtered.

“Bullshit,” the second Auror spit, his face red.

Without a word, Harry lowered the collar of his robe to show a bruise bigger than the pad of his thumb on the side of his neck.

Draco looked at the mark in self-satisfaction.

“And what is that supposed to be?”

“A hickey.”

The second Auror sputtered some more. His face was turning purple as if he were choking.

The third was as blank as a sheet of parchment.

The lead Auror was gazing at Harry in disgust.

“Look gentlemen, give me veritaserum, give me a pensive. I can prove to you that Draco and I were together all day yesterday and all night last night. We even had breakfast together this morning before we went to meet with our informant, who we were speaking to before you arrived and falsely arrested Draco for a murder that never happened.”

“Now, unless you have some proof that a murder actually happened and that my client is guilty of said crime, we are done here,” Edward Hedgerow said, placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Stiffly, Draco stood up, stifling a wince that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry or his lawyers.

“You’ll be hearing from us,” Edward Hedgerow as he and his partners followed Harry and Draco out of the room.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

The rumbling of her stomach was what woke Ginny. Yawning, she sat up and stretched, wincing at the creak in her neck. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but it was obvious she had been asleep for sometime if the flood of sunlight in through the bay window was anything to go by. As the large living room window faced west and thus the setting sun, it got all the sunlight late in the day. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel confirmed it. It was just going on five o’clock.

“Harry,” she called out as she slid off the couch. “You home?” She sighed when, once again, there came no answer. Was he still out? Or had he come home only to leave again? Had he not seen her? Or had he seen her but chose not to disturb her because she was sleeping? Harry was considerate like that. She didn’t even bother calling for Kreacher. He never answered her, ever.

Searching for a note proved fruitless as there was none.

Ginny was starting to get angry--angry at Harry for not being here when she needed him and angry at herself for foolishly believing that Harry would be wallowing in misery--and that was causing her to become restless, so she took to walking about the house. In part, it was to stretch her legs. Mostly, she wanted to see if she could find any evidence pertaining to where Harry went.

Starting with the living room, she swept through the first floor quickly, before heading up to the second level where she decided to start with the master bedroom.

Ginny stepped over the threshold into the bedroom and halted at the sight of two neatly folded piles of clothing that appeared to be freshly laundered sitting at the foot of the queen-sized sleigh bed. The pile closest to her was obviously Harry’s. She recognized the boxer shorts. The last time she and Harry had gone out together, Harry bought them. The other pile gave her pause. Whose clothing were those? She almost called out for Harry before she remembered he wasn’t home.

Curious, Ginny strode boldly into the bedroom and over to the bed. She picked up the stripped button down dress shirt on top and studied it. It didn’t look familiar. She would have just chalked the unfamiliar clothing off to yet another one of Harry’s shopping sprees, which Harry has been going on a lot lately, but none of the unfamiliar clothes would have fit Harry. They weren’t the right size. Harry was short and lean, but with a solid muscular build. These clothing were for someone taller and even leaner than Harry. Had Harry purchased them as a gift for someone? Or-

Maybe they didn’t belong to Harry at all.

The implied meaning behind that sudden thought stopped Ginny cold. The shirt slipped from her suddenly trembling hands and fell silently on the floor. She took a step backwards away from the offending piece of cloth.

Something crinkled under her foot. Dancing away from whatever it was, hoping she hadn’t broken anything; she glanced down and saw that it was a blue, square, foil-like wrapper. Frowning, she bent down and picked it up.

Almost immediately, she dropped it with a gasp and jumped back as if she‘d been stung. Her back hit the wall. The color drained from her face. Her startled brown gaze went from the empty condom wrapper on the floor to the pile of clothing belonging to the unknown entity. Devastation gripped her heart. Tears stung her eyes.

She wouldn’t--She couldn’t--She refused-

He wouldn’t--not to her--to them-

Ginny flew across the room to the small garbage can situated by the bed. Her movements were frantic, almost hysterical, as she clawed through the trash first with her hands before she upended the thing, dumping its contents onto the floor. She tossed the trashcan aside and ignored the loud clatter it made.

“No,” she moaned, slapping a hand over her mouth. Shaking her head frantically, she stumbled to her feet and staggered backwards away from the evidence.

Among used tissues, an apple core, crumbled balls of parchment, a broken quill and an empty bottle of ink was an empty tube of lubrication jelly and several ripped condom wrappers along with their used condoms.

“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “Oh, God, no. Please, God, no. Why?”

In that moment, she knew. She didn’t want to believe what she now knew to be the truth, but she had no choice.

When she felt the brush of cold metal against her lip, she held out her hand and saw her engagement ring. Her movements’ hysteric, Ginny ripped the ring off her finger and tossed it blindly with an angst-filled roar that gave way to sobbing. She stumbled blindly backwards out of the bedroom, her vision blurry and doubled behind a stinging veil of tears. The ache in her chest and the pain in her heart doubled every moment she lingered.

Tripping over her own two feet in her hurry to vacate the scene of the crime, Ginny tore out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out of the house. Not once did she look back.

Kreacher appeared in the foyer moments after Ginny disapparated. A smile that could almost be called evil crossed his face as he shut the door with a snap of his fingers.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

There was a smudge of dirt on Ron’s cheek as he marched through the Auror Department towards his cubicle in the Homicide Division.

He’d just returned from Candela, a small wizarding community outside London, where he arrested a woman for murdering her husband and disposing of his body in an old well that she subsequently filled in.

In the woman’s original statement to the Aurors, she claimed her husband left after an argument late one night, which had been an almost nightly occurrence, and never heard from him again. Turns out her statement was accurate, just not complete.

It turns out the woman had been hundreds of thousands of galleons indebt and had taken out a second mortgage on the house. She had just applied for a third one earlier that day when her husband discovered her financial trouble and confronted her. They fought. She smashed an antique solid bronze statue over his head and buried him in the backyard. She’d used her husband’s life insurance, which had been a million galleon policy, to pay off her debts.

This wasn’t the first spousal homicide he’d worked. It happened way too often in his opinion. A great percentage of the time it was a deliberate act, sometimes premeditated, sometimes done in the heat of the moment. Very rarely had it been a case of self-defense. But in almost every single case, the defendant always used the “self-defense” defense and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be any different this time.

He still had to question the woman, but for now, he was going to let her stew in the interrogation room where she was currently being held while he washed up, maybe got something to eat and organized his notes. After that, he’ll head down to question her. Or maybe he’ll let her rot in a cell all night.

Ron had just stepped into his cubicle when he caught a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye. He turned around and saw Harry walking passed with Draco and three older unfamiliar gentlemen. All with serious expressions on their faces. They appeared to be deep in conversation.

What was Harry doing here? Wasn’t it his day off? It wouldn’t be the first time Harry showed up at the office when he wasn’t scheduled to work. Usually it was when he got a new lead on a case though, but as far as Ron knew, Harry didn’t have any active cases at the moment. There was that Black Market case, but Harry hadn’t been officially assigned to work it. In fact, as far as he knew, nobody had, which they’ve both always found odd.

“Oi! Harry,” Ron shouted across the floor, but Harry just kept on walking as if he hadn’t heard Ron. That was possible given how abuzz the Homicide Division usually was. You couldn’t hear yourself think at times. Therefore, Ron didn’t feel slighted or offended when Harry seemingly ignored him.

There was a flash of anger, though, as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Hermione the night before that pertained to Harry and Draco’s relationship, but he pushed it aside for the time being. Now was not the time or the place, though it was something he wanted to discuss with Harry. Maybe he’d floo him later on. He could also ask him about what he was doing at the office as well.

Sighing, Ron collapsed into his chair and closed his aching eyes. It had been a long day.

“And it’s not over yet,” he muttered.

Opening his eyes, Ron gathered his notes together. He hoped this woman didn’t feed him a bunch of bullshit when he went to question her. He was not in the mood.

 

* * *

 

**Half an Hour Later - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

The moment they stepped into the house and shut the door behind them, the wards clicking back into place, Kreacher appeared with such a low bow that his nose touched the floor. “Welcome home Masters. Would Masters be wanting dinner?”

“Maybe later, Kreacher,” Harry said.

With another bow, Kreacher disappeared back into the depths of the house.

Even though they haven’t eaten since breakfast, neither he nor Draco were particularly hungry. While his anger at the audacity and incompetence of his fellow Aurors had subsided, it hadn’t vanished completely. It was still there, simmering under the surface, but the adrenaline feeding the anger had been used up and now he was just exhausted.

“You really think they did all that just because they wanted us out of the way?” Draco asked as they trooped up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Yawning, Harry rubbed his eyes. “At this point, I’m not sure what to believe. Could be they’re zealots.”

“You mean like a Death Eater on every corner, a Dark Lord in every shadow?”

“Precisely.”

Draco sneered, “Wouldn’t surprise me. There seems to be a lot of people like that around.”

“Unfortunately,” Harry agreed with a tired sigh. “I deal with people like that all the time.”

“Like who?” Draco asked as he sank gratefully down onto the pillow top mattress. Lying back, he folded his arms behind his head and let his lids droop closed.

“Like, for example,” Harry answered as he crossed the bedroom towards the attached master bath, “if a suspect confesses, he’s guilty because the innocent wouldn’t confess to something they didn’t do and no matter what you say, they refuse to believe anything different.”

Draco scoffed.

“It’s not really the same thing as people who’re convinced you’re guilty just because you were a Death Eater-”

“Not by choice,” Draco added, muttering.

“Exactly,” Harry said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of running water. “It goes back to my point. Why would anyone join Voldemort unless they believed in the same--ideology?”

“If you’re innocent, you’d have no reason to confess.”

The quiet was stifling after the sound of running water vanished. “Precisely. In a way, they remind me of Ron.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at the comparison. “How so?”

“Ron, well, I never had friends before coming to Hogwarts and Ron was the first one I ever had after Hagrid and Hedwig.”

“Seriously? Weasley?”

“Yeah and you want to know one of the very first things he ever told me?”

“I have a good idea,” Draco sneered.

“I knew nothing of the Wizarding World before receiving my Hogwarts letter.”

“And thus learned everything from a-”

“Say it and you’re sleeping on the couch,” Harry interrupted. It may have been stated matter of fact, but there was a hint of an underlining note that made it clear it was no idle threat.

Draco gulped.

“But yes,” Harry continued. “Everything I learned about the Wizarding World I learned from witches and wizards as Light as Voldemort was Dark.”

“And as prejudice against everything perceived as Dark and thus ‘evil’ as the Dark Lord was against non-Purebloods.”

The silence following Draco’s statement was a heartbeat or two longer than normal before Harry said, his voice low, “Ron told me there wasn’t a wizard placed in Slytherin who didn’t go bad.”

Draco scoffed, but remained silent. He did not want to be kicked to the couch for bad mouthing Harry’s first and bestest best friend, even though whatever he might have said wouldn’t have been--much--of an over exaggeration, no matter that Harry and the Weasel weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.

“People like that--They have a preconceived notion about someone-”

“Like my father and my grandfather.”

“Yeah. They were both Death Eaters and thus-”

“So am I.”

“…It’s not really the same thing, but-”

“They’re still people who refused to admit when they’re wrong.”

“Exactly.”

Draco hummed. “I suppose you‘re right. Though, it makes sense to think of it in terms of them being part of the Black Market ring we’ve been investigating.”

“The Aurors who arrested you, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s precisely why I plan on speaking with Moore in the morning.”

“Moore?” Draco inquired innocently.

“Assistant Head Auror. If anything happens to the Head Auror, he takes over as interim Head.”

“Lucky him.”

“Actually, Moore never wanted to become Head Auror.”

“Really?”

“Claims he became an Auror to catch the bad guys; not to be a politician. He would have gone into politics if he wanted to be a politician.”

“Then why become Assistant Head?” Draco asked.

“Pay raise. He has like a million kids.”

Draco choked. “What?”

Harry snickered. “Man just can’t keep it in his pants.”

“Oh, ew!” Draco ground his hands into his eyes as if that alone would get rid of the image that had popped unbidden into his head. “Thanks for the visual.”

“Welcome,” Harry laughed.

Dropping his hands, Draco turned his head and swallowed as he took in the visual his Auror lover presented as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Having taken off his robes, Harry was now standing in the threshold between the bedroom and the bathroom in nothing but a pair of jeans that were unbuttoned and riding suspiciously low on his hips. A droplet of water trailed down the flat planes of his abdomen to vanish within the waistband of his fitted boxer shorts.

Licking his lips, Draco propped himself up on an elbow and crooked a finger at Harry in a come-hither motion.

Smirking, Harry slowly stalked his way across the bedroom towards his blond haired Adonis, sashaying his hips in a deliberate motion.

Draco’s cock twitched in reaction. Growling, he snapped forward, grabbed Harry by the belt loops of his pants, and dragged him forward so that he was standing framed between Draco’s knees, smirking at the squeak he managed to produce from Harry--who would later deny emitting such a noise. Hooking his other arm around Harry’s neck, Draco dragged Harry down into a kiss.

It was just a chaste press of lips sweetly moving against one another’s. As their lips parted simultaneously, deepening their kiss just that little bit, Draco lowered himself back down onto the mattress. Harry planted hands on either side of Draco’s head as he allowed himself to be pulled down. He lapped at Draco’s lips, teasingly pulling away when Draco’s tongue came seeking, chuckling at Draco‘s moue of disappointment.

Suddenly Draco cursed and pulled away. Letting go of Harry, he rubbed the back of his head.

“Dray?” Harry questioned in concern, his hands still propping him up above his lover.

Draco reached behind him. When he’d gone to lay his head down, something hard had dug into the back of his head. Sure enough, there was something there. It wasn’t crumbs as he‘d originally suspected, but turned out to be a ring. He recognized it immediately.

“What is it?”

Without a word, Draco held out his hand.

With a mighty inhale, Harry froze at the sight of the gold band. “Ginny’s engagement ring,” he breathed. Standing up, he palmed the ring. His thoughts whirled in confusion.

Draco sat up. “What’s it doing here?” he questioned carefully.

Good question. “I-I’m not…sure.” Better one was what had Ginny been doing here. After the way he’d treated her yesterday, after the things he’d done to her, said to her, he hadn’t actually expected her to want anything to do with him for a few weeks at least.

“You think she was here?”

“…I don‘t…,” he answered, distracted.

Draco searched his lover’s face and felt his heart clench painfully at the contorted expression on Harry’s face. He turned his head away and stared at the far wall, his hands clenched into fists. If Harry was starting to have regrets about them now that it appeared as if the Weaselette was calling off their engagement, Draco swore he would hex Harry into the next millennium. He was not going to be somebody’s dirty little secret. He wasn’t some whore. “Kreacher,” he called, desperately trying to hold onto his anger rather than the sorrow weaving itself forward.

Moments later, the ancient house-elf appeared with another one of his floor sweeping bows.

Before Draco could say anything, Harry asked, “Did Ginny stop by,” as he fisted his hand around the diamond and emerald ring.

“Yes, Master Harry.”

Ginny was braver than he was. Harry could face a dozen wanted fugitives, unarmed and without backup, but he couldn’t make the time to sit down with his own future wife and talk about the dragon in the room, even with the shit up to their eyeballs. He’d known for a while that they had to talk; that they were growing apart; that his feelings were changing, but for some reason, Harry hadn’t been able to say anything. Instead he’d ignored it, pretended that everything was still okay between them even though that had been far from the case.

Maybe he hadn’t said anything because he’d been afraid of hurting her. Like he told Draco the day before, he still cared about her. He always would. That was never going to change.

Either way, he’d been a coward plain and simple. “When was she here?”

“Not long after Master left. She waltzes into Master’s home as if it’s her right,” Kreacher said in contempt. “Filthy- ”

“Did she leave a note?” Harry prodded, cutting off Kreacher before he could fall into one of his tirades. It was safe to say that Kreacher had never grown fond of Ginny or vice versa. Avoidance was certainly better than listening to the two bicker back and forth, but that also meant that both Kreacher and Ginny went on little rants about the other to him. It was quite tiresome.

Alternatively, Kreacher had fallen immediately in love with Draco.

“No Master. She left without a word to Kreacher.”

Harry nodded. “What did she do when she got here?”

“Called out for Master, but Master wasn’t here, so Kreacher thought the filthy Blood Traitor would leave, but she didn’t. She fell asleep, forcing Kreacher to clean around her. When she woke, she called for Master again, but Master was still not home so she snooped into master’s trash,” Kreacher sneered in distaste.

Harry paled.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Well,” he drawled. “That-”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped. Dizzy, he stumbled backwards and sank onto the bed besides Draco. Dropping his head, he fisted his hands into his hair and gulping, asked breathlessly over a racing heart, “Which…?”

Kreacher pointed to the trashcan not far from the bed. “Master’s Blood Traitor left in a hurry after trashing the house Kreacher spent all day cleaning.”

Harry swore, grounding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knew exactly what Ginny found when she went rooting in the trash, what caused her to run pell-mell out of the house as if Voldemort was hot on her tail; evidence of his infidelity, of his night with Draco.

Still feeling slighted at being scolded as if he were a child, Draco waved Kreacher away and then turned towards his lover.

“She knows.”

“She was bound to sooner or later.”

“I know that! It’s just…Fuck!” Harry laid back on the bed, draping his arms over his brow and staring blankly up at the ceiling. The ring was still clasped in his hand.

Draco forced back the tears. He was not going to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing how much he was hurting him. “Go to her,” he said. Just that short sentence was like acid. It burned and hurt more than words could say.

Taken back, Harry lay blinking. “What?” His chest tight, reverently hoping he’d heard him wrong, he dropped his arms and turned his head. “Dray-”

“Maybe you could, I don’t know, try and work things out,” Draco continued with a wave of his hand as if it didn’t feel as if his heart and soul weren’t being torn from his body.

Harry sat up. “Work things out? Why the hell-?”

“I don’t mind. Really. I mean you and the--Ginevra-”

Harry shook his head, back and forth, over and over again. Why would Draco be saying this? Wasn’t this what Draco wanted, to have Harry all to himself? To be able to proclaim to everyone that Harry Potter was in love with him? Wasn’t Draco in love with him? Had he changed his mind? Or had Harry read too much into their one night together? The mere thought of Draco not wanting him any longer was too much to bear. Tears stung his eyes. “Dray. Draco. Stop. Just stop.”

Draco refused to look at Harry.

He was dumbfounded by the glimpse of torment and anguish--the utter heartbroken expression on Draco’s face. It hit him then. What if Draco was under the impression that he, Harry, had changed his mind about the two of them? The vise around his chest unclenched. “You idiot,” he whispered.

Draco’s head snapped around. Those gray-blue eyes were icy cold as they glared into Harry’s bright emerald ones. Draco appeared momentarily thrown by whatever he saw on Harry‘s face, but quickly shook off the shock. “Excuse me?”

Harry sat up, slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. Blindly, he set Ginny’s engagement ring on the nightstand before coming to kneel before Draco. Laying his hands on Draco’s knees, Harry pushed Draco’s legs open and sidled between them. Reaching up and cradling Draco’s face, Harry smiled gently up at the confused pale face. “You are such an idiot,” he reiterated softly. “Remember what you asked me yesterday?”

With an expression that went neutral, Draco answered, “I asked if you resented me for coming between you and Ginevra.”

Smiling, Harry nodded. “Do you remember what I said?”

Draco smiled for he did remember. “You said, ‘Don’t be absurd. The only thing that has come between me and Ginny is her inability to get over herself.’”

“Exactly.” Straightening to his full height, Harry leaned forward and captured Draco’s lips in a kiss that expressed without words everything he couldn’t say with words. “The only regret I have,” Harry continued, pulling away from Draco enough so that he could speak clearly, “is hurting Ginny like I have. Things haven’t been right between us for a while and instead of being a coward and avoiding her, I should have--There’s no excuse for what I’ve done to her.”

Draco nodded.

“But I have no intention of going back to her. I’ve moved on.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“If he’ll have me of course.”

“Hm. I’m not sure. Guess you’ll have to ask him.”

Harry purred in pleasure. “Oh, I plan to,” he whispered huskily, swooping in to take possession of Draco’s lips.

As Draco dragged Harry onto the bed with him, the ring, which had been wobbling uncertainly on the edge of the nightstand, was snatched by gravity. It dropped into the trashcan, sinking to the bottom.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Edinburgh, Scotland**

Ron had just sat down to start questioning the woman suspected of murdering her husband ten years ago when he’d been called out to a body dump. The fact that he was right in the middle of interviewing a suspect was no never mind to the powers that be, which in this case was acting Head Auror, Assistant Head Auror D’Arcy Moore. Why Moore sent him and not Madigan, who was at the top of the call list, Ron wasn’t sure. There were rumors that Moore and Madigan had a thing up until a week ago, but it had ended badly when Moore discovered Madigan in bed with another man. Apparently, this was Moore’s payback.

As he’d been out in the field all day, Ron hadn’t heard the news about Pieletska’s death. It wasn’t public knowledge yet. It wasn’t until Ron had been called into Moore’s office and handed this case that he’d heard. He wondered if Harry knew.

“Sir.” A Hispanic woman in perfect Muggle attire greeted him with a nod of her head as he approached the cordoned off scene. Her name was Garcia if he wasn’t mistaken, rookie, but a solid Auror with a bright and long future in the Department ahead of her.

“What we got?” he asked crouching down besides the body laying facedown in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of downtown Edinburgh.

The victim was a white male, possibly in his mid to late thirties, with green spiked hair. It was difficult to determine approximate age for the victim’s face was heavily lined. Unseeing eyes were a solid black. It was a definite sign of illegals abuse, possibly Zhangjiakou--named after the city in northeastern China where the drug was first developed--or Rain, which had almost the same effects. The male victim was close to six feet tall and extremely gaunt. He was almost skeletal thin. It was another sign of illegals use. Using the tip of his wand, Ron lowered the flipped up collar of the victim’s black button down shirt and inspected the wound on the throat. It was deep, clean, and most definitely fatal. There didn’t appear to be any hesitation marks.

This guy couldn’t have been dead for more then an hour at most.

A wand, snapped in half, lay several feet from the body.

“Who cast the Notice-Me-Not?” Ron inquired before Garcia could say anything.

“My husband, sir. Here’s over talking to Murray.”

Ron glanced over his shoulder and saw Murray nodding his head and jotting down notes as he listened to whatever it was he was being told by a second male who was dressed like Garcia in perfect Muggle attire. Murray was one of the oldest Aurors in the whole DMLE. He’d had a long and illustrious career and planned to retire next year. The man Murray was questioning reminded Ron of his brother Charlie except with brown hair and heftier. “You called it in?”

“Yes, sir. I and my husband were in town having dinner and catching a movie as it’s our anniversary-”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir. We had some time before we had to head to the theater and decided to do some window shopping when this vehicle came flying around the corner.” She pointed to the indicated corner where several crime scene witches were grouped. “The car slowed down. The back door opened and the vic was tossed out. The car then took off.”

Standing up, Ron approached the curb and crouched back down. There were skid marks running several feet down the street. “What color was the car? Are you sure it was a car? How familiar are you with Muggle vehicles?”

“Very, sir. I’m Muggleborn and my parents made sure I knew all about the Muggle world as well as the Wizarding one. Also, my older Muggle brother is a car enthusiast.”

“So it was a car then.”

“Yes, sir. A four-door black luxury car. Mercedes. Tinted windows. I was only able to get a partial license.”

“Many wouldn’t have even gotten that much. Good eye, Garcia.” He would be able to use his contacts within the Muggle authorities in order to find the vehicle.

“Thank you, sir.”

Still crouching, Ron studied the scene. He pictured the car Garcia had seen squealing around the corner--there’d be more skid marks there--and slowing down just the slightest bit as it passed Garcia and her husband who were out celebrating. The back door opened. John Doe, as he would be referred to as until they had a name, was tossed out like yesterday’s trash, already dead given the lack of blood at the scene. The car took off, leaving behind more skid marks. Momentum had the male victim rolling a good couple of meters down the sidewalk before coming to a halt before a boutique.

Whoever this guy was, he was obviously a wizard, so what was he doing being tossed out of a moving Muggle car in the middle of a Muggle city in plain sight of Muggles? Was it a coincidence that the vic was discarded in front of probably the only two magical folk walking the streets of Muggle Edinburgh that night?

What about the car? It wasn’t unheard of for wizards to use Muggle transportation. Ministry officials used them all the time.

Some of his fellow Aurors would have written off Muggles as being responsible right away, thinking that no Muggle would be able to take down a wizard, but that just wasn‘t true. While magic couldn’t be used against Muggles except in certain extreme circumstances, if this guy had been so hopped-up on whatever his drug of choice was when he’d been jumped, Muggle or not, magic wouldn’t have done much good. Both Zhangjiakou and Rain affected one’s ability to use magic. But if the vic had been clean at the time, then no matter the amount of Muggles, he wouldn’t have ended up face down with his throat slashed unless the Muggle had taken him unawares and quite possibly not even then.

Standing up, groaning as his knees protested the move, Ron moved back to the body. “Has the ME arrived yet?”

“On his way, sir,” Murray answered, strolling towards him.

Garcia’s husband had remained by the wards that kept out Muggles and unauthorized magical folk.

“He looks familiar,” Garcia muttered as she crouched over the body. Her head was bent low and tilted to get a better look at the dead man’s face.

Ron latched onto this. “Familiar how?”

Garcia shook her head. “Not sure.”

Ron crossed towards her and the dead body. “Was he a suspect? Bring him in for questioning? Was he wanted for questioning?”

Garcia shook her head.

“Maybe you went to Hogwarts together? Dated him? He date a friend of yours?”

Again, Garcia shook her head.

Sighing, Ron scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Sorry, sir. I just can’t remember.”

Ron waved it aside. “It’s alright. Let me know if you do. What about you?” Ron asked Murray as the older Auror joined them.

Garcia stood and stepped aside.

Murray took her place and studied the victim as best he could given the man was facedown. “Yeah,” he answered right away. “Yeah. I’ve seen him.”

Ron snapped to attention. He’d asked as a matter of routine since Garcia had admitted to being familiar with the victim. He hadn‘t actually expected an answer. “Where was this?” he demanded.

“Knockturn earlier this afternoon.”

“Knockturn Alley?”

“Yeah. I was called to a domestic disturbance and saw him loitering in front of a closed tobacco store. Seemed nervous. Strung out.”

“Was he with anyone? See anybody approaching him?”

Murray shook his head. “No sir and he was gone when I left.”

“Potter!” Garcia exclaimed suddenly.

Ron turned around, expecting to see his best mate. When he didn’t see him, he turned back to Garcia questioningly.

“I accompanied Auror Potter once when Potions Master Malfoy was unable to do so to see their informant in Knockturn Alley,” Garcia explained excitedly. “Met him in an alley besides a shop that sold tobacco. Guy went by the name Sting. Could be why you saw him there earlier,” she said to Murray. “He was waiting for Potter.”

Murray nodded. “He was acting pretty nervous. Almost scared. Jittery. Thought he was coming off something, but maybe he had something that was hot.”

“And got him killed,” Ron finished. He swore under his breath. “This is Harry’s informant?”

“Yes, sir,” Garcia confirmed with a nod.  
  
Ron cursed again. Guess he was going to have that conversation sooner than he’d thought.

 

* * *

 

**An Hour Later - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

They were embracing within the shower after their rambunctious bout of lovemaking; hot water raining down upon them, steam filling the bathroom and fogging the mirror. Draco stood behind Harry, their bodies aligned and molded together perfectly. His arms were wrapped tightly and possessively around Harry’s narrow waist, pouring kisses along Harry’s neck and shoulder.

Harry, for his part, tilted his head in order to give Draco better access and moaned loudly at the feel of the hard, throbbing cock snuggly pressed against his ass. “God,” he panted, “I love you.”

Draco paused, blinking stupidly. Then a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Tightening his hold, Draco buried his nose within Harry’s shoulder. “I love you too,” he reciprocated. It felt as if his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

Step four complete. Mission accomplished.

It took a great deal of effort not to cackle like some evil sorceress from a child’s fairytale.

Draco wasn’t sure when he’d developed feelings for Harry. He’d only realized they were there when he saw the announcement in The Daily Prophet about Harry’s engagement to the Weaselette. From there, he’d made it his mission to woo Harry away from his redheaded gnat. There’d been no guarantee that the self-assigned task would work. It might very well have ended in failure. After all, if Harry wasn’t interested then he wasn’t interested and no amount of anything would change that no matter how much Draco would wish the opposite were true.

Luckily for him, Harry had been interested--even if Harry hadn‘t realized it at the time--and things between Harry and The Golden Trio plus One had already been on the rocks, making it so that Draco was able to slither right in and take up the slack.

Draco loved it when a scheme went according to plan.

Now that he had him, he was never going to let him go.

Tipping his head back, Harry rested it on Draco’s shoulder, folding his arms around the viselike grip around his waist and sighing contently.

Finding Ginny’s engagement ring and realizing that she’d done the one thing he’d been too much of a coward to do was the first time in over twenty-four hours that Harry had even thought of the woman. The sudden realization had been startling. There was no excuse for how he’d treated her. She deserved better. The first chance he had, he was going to apologize to her for being such a cad, but he wasn’t going to apologize for Draco. He had absolutely no regrets about becoming Draco’s lover. Draco made him happier than he’s been in a long time and he wasn’t about to lose that.

Harry held his breath as Draco resumed kissing his neck, his hands trailing downwards. He cried out as Draco took his hardening length in hand, the other reaching underneath to cup his balls. That was as far as their foreplay went before the proximity alarms went off. Harry stiffened, his head righting with a snap.

Feeling Harry tense from something that was obviously not of his doing, Draco frowned in concern. “What is it?”

Harry groaned, and not because of anything Draco did, his head slumping forwards with a curse as the presence whom had triggered the proximity alarms passed through the wards. “Ron.”

It was Draco’s turn to stiffen.

Extracting himself from his boyfriend‘s unyielding embrace was more difficult than Harry thought possible and not because if felt as if Draco had used a permanent sticking charm to keep them glued together. Turning around in Draco‘s arms, Harry leaned forward and kissed him so soundly he left Draco cursing the day Ron Weasley was born. Chuckling at Draco’s growing predicament that was pressed against his own, Harry stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, grinning at the grumbling going on behind him as Draco reluctantly followed suit.

“This had better be important,” Draco grumbled as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

Harry chuckled. “You know you’re cute when you’re frustrated,” he commented, pecking Draco on the lips.

Draco snarled after him, despite the rosy hue his cheeks had taken on. “Malfoys are not cute I’ll have you know.”

“Really? My mistake. What are they then if not cute?” Harry tossed over his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that said, “Every Saint has a Past” on the front and “Every Sinner has a Future” on the back.

“Debonair comes to mind,” Draco said as he riffled through Harry‘s closet for something suitable to put on. “Suave. Charming.”

“Annoying,” Harry countered as he slid his feet into a pair of house slippers. “Full of themselves.” He yelped as a stinging hex came hurtling out of the closet to zap him in the ass. “Pain in my butt,” he added, rubbing his ass cheek that twinged in pain.

Draco chuckled.

Tossing open the bedroom door, the sound of knocking became evident.

“Shouldn’t Kreacher have answered the door?” Draco asked as he stepped out of the closet dressed in a black silk button down dress shirt tucked neatly into a pair of grey suit pants. He crossed the bedroom to sit on the bed and summoned a pair of black socks out of the dresser.

“Not if it’s ‘Mione, a Weasley or a Muggle. He respects members of the House of Black--except Sirius--and me. That‘s it,” Harry said as Draco put on the socks before following Harry downstairs where the knocking had turned into insistent hammering. “And as you’re part of the House of Black through your mother, he basically worships you.”

Draco smirked at this bit of information.

Harry rolled his eyes as he peeked through the peephole to check that the visitor was indeed Ron. It was. The wards fell around the door as he turned the deadbolt. “Hey,” he greeted his friend neutrally after opening the door to admit the exhausted redhead. After what transpired at lunch the day before, Harry was not sure how stable his relationship with Ron was. It was safer not to poke a sleeping lion. “You look beat.”

Ron sighed as he stepped into the foyer. “I feel beat.”

“Long day?” Harry asked as he shut and locked the door. The wards reset themselves automatically.

“You have no idea.” When Ron’s mud brown eyes landed on the bane of his existence leaning casually against the wall by the staircase with his arms crossed over his chest, he froze. His hand twitched with the impulse to grab his wand.

“Weasley,” Draco greeted with a nod of his head.

Ron gave the man a once over, noting the wet hair and the clothes that reminded him of the outfit Harry wore the day he proposed to Ginny and then dismissed Draco as the insignificant insect he was. He vaguely noted that Harry’s hair was wet as well. “Sorry for stopping by so late mate.”

Harry waved his friend’s apology aside. “No problem. What’s up? Want some tea or-?”

“No thanks. Another time. I, uh, actually this isn’t a social call.”

It was as if a switch had been flicked. Ron watched as Harry went from casual and relaxed to tense and alert. “What happened?” he demanded.

Instead of answering, Ron pulled out a photo from an inner pocket of his Auror robes and passed it over. “Do you know this man?”

Harry swore when he saw the photo.

Ron pulled out his notepad and a Muggle pen from a second inner pocket of his robes and flipped the notepad open to a new page, ready to take notes.

“When was this taken?”

“An hour ago in downtown Muggle Edinburgh. He was killed approximately two hours ago.”

Harry swore again as he peered across the foyer at Draco, who looked back with a cocked eyebrow. “It’s Sting.”

Dropping his arms, Draco pushed away from the wall. “What?” he snapped. “It can’t be. We just saw him.” He marched across the foyer and snatched the picture from Harry’s unsteady grip. His already pale complexion went white. It was a close-up shot of their informant and his runner, Sting. His throat had been slashed. The man’s deathly pallor was evident. “He--You…Fuck.” Handing the photograph back, Draco staggered into the living room and into the nearest seat, which was an antique Victorian straight back chair and dropped his face into his hands.

Ron watched the pureblood heir with something akin to sympathy.

Harry also watched him. Then turned back to Ron. “What happened?” he demanded. His emerald eyes were ablaze with fury. The photo crumbled in his harsh grip.

Gulping, Ron relayed what he believed to have happened. The vic, now confirmed to be an informant that went by the name “Sting”, had had his throat cut and then his body had been dumped. They had an Alert out in both the Muggle as well as the Magical communities in the area for the car Garcia had seen , but he was not holding out any hope of the vehicle providing the magic bullet--if it was ever found that was, which he highly doubted. Who. What. Where. When. Why. They had no answers and unless they either found the getaway car or Harry knew something, Sting’s death was going to remain unsolved.

“Do you know what Sting’s real name was? Did he have any family? Know where he lived?” Ron inquired from where he was standing before the cold fireplace.

“Jacob,” Draco said just as Harry shook his head negatively. “I believe his name was Jacob.” He lifted his head and sat back, staring blankly across the room at the ceiling above Ron’s head. “Jacob…something-or-other. I’m not--Rowans,” he interrupted himself. “Jacob Rowans.”

Ron jotted the name down. “Know if he had family?”

“Not that he ever said. Our association was strictly business. He’s worked for me for the last few years procuring various potions ingredients and acting as liaison between me and certain clients. Then he started acting as Harry’s informant about a year ago.”

“He did say something about a grandmother in Brussels,” Harry added from where he sat on the sofa. “Said she retired there several years back.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at him.

Harry shrugged.

“Where did he stay?” Ron asked.

“He moved around a lot,” Draco said.

“Especially recently,” Harry added.

“Why’s that?” Ron asked.

“He wasn’t well liked.”

Ron raised an eyebrow.

“He was a snitch,” Draco clarified. “He made a lot of enemies over the years.”

Ron nodded. “When was the last time you met with him?”

“This afternoon,” Harry said.

“I received a message this morning saying he wanted to meet,” Draco said. “That he had information about the case we’re working on.”

“Regarding the banned fertility potion?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“I bet it was them,” Draco said suddenly.

Ron eyed the man. “Them who? You know what he‘s talking about?” he asked Harry who was nodding.

“The VIPs.”

“The what?”

“The VIPs. That’s what Sting called them. You see, like Draco said, Sting claimed to have some information for us regarding the sale of the banned fertility potion on the Black Market.”

“Only we never got to hear everything he knew,” Draco said as he crossed the room to sit besides Harry. Sitting back, he draped an arm along the back of the sofa and crossed his legs.

“Why? What happened?” Ron asked.

“Aurors appeared and arrested Draco,” Harry answered.

Ron gazed at Draco suspiciously. “What for? What he do?”

“Nothing,” Harry all but barked.

“Just like last time huh? And the time before that?”

“Yes,” Harry replied firmly.

Ron gulped at the fury in Harry’s eyes. “Oh-kay, so, uh, what was this information Sting had? You think whatever it was got him killed?”

“Quite possibly,” Draco said lazily from besides Harry. “Of course, we have no proof, but it’s quite a coincidence that at the same time Sting comes to us with info that could blow our case wide open-”

“-and quite possibly cause quite a scandal within the Ministry-” Harry added.

Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What?” he choked.

Draco inclined his head at Harry. “-a group of Aurors arrive to arrest me for a crime that didn’t even happen.”

Intrigued, Ron pushed away from the mantel and rounded the coffee table to perch on the edge of the chair sat at an angle to the sofa. “What exactly did this guy of yours tell you and what does it have to do with the Ministry?”

With additional input from Draco, Harry told Ron everything that had happened from when Pieletska called him into his office the day before until Draco was arrested in Knockturn Alley. He also told Ron about their suspicions.

Afterwards, Ron sat back, trying desperately to figure out how a simple homicide had become one of Harry’s harebrained conspiracies. His head throbbed painfully as he tried to wrap his mind around the influx of information he’d been fed. “That’s…a lot to take in.”

Before Draco could even open his mouth to comment, the air was forced from his lungs by a sharp jab to his side. Wrapping his arms protectively around his throbbing middle, he glared at Harry who was conveniently not looking at him.

“I plan on speaking to Moore in the morning,” Harry was saying to Ron. “See what he thinks.”

Distracted, Ron nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.” Shaking his head, he sat up, flipped his notepad closed and slid it and the pen back into the inner pocket of his robs. “Well, uh, it’s getting pretty late. Uhm. Thank you…for--you know…”

As eloquent as always, Draco thought with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course.” Standing up, Harry walked Ron to the door, pausing long enough to give Draco a hard slap upside the head for the eye roll.

“We’ll catch whoever’s responsible,” Ron said at the door. “Whether it’s those VIPs you were talking about or if it was just retaliation from someone he burned.”

Harry nodded, but remained silent. Unlike Ron, he was a realist. He knew that not every crime that was brought to the attention of the Aurors was solved for one reason or another--sometimes for lack of evidence and other times because it just wasn’t a priority like the death of some junkie. “Thanks.”

With a nod, Ron stepped out the front door and strolled down the front walk towards the edge of the wards so that he could apparate back to the Ministry to finish his paperwork and then head home. “See ya later,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Harry opened his mouth to say something about him and Ginny, but nothing came out. He couldn’t find the words. By the time he could, Ron was already gone.

He smiled when pale arms wrapped around him from behind and moaned when a familiar hardness pressed into his ass.

“Now,” Draco breathed into his ear, “where were we?”

Harry shivered in pleasure.

 

* * *

 

**Night - Horny Goatfish Pub - Northumberland, England**

It was a Muggle pub.

If someone had told her a week ago that she would spend hours at one, she would have laughed in his face. Then again, many things were different than they were a week ago.

Harry went to Muggle pubs all the time--or he used to before Draco introduced him to Bannum Alley. In the Muggle world, nobody knew him. Nobody stared at him as if he were some sort of oddity or treated him as if he were the Second Coming. Muggles looked at him and not his scar. He could let his hair down, as it were, and be what he’d always wished he could be: Harry, just Harry. He didn’t have to worry about his exploits making the front page of every paper in Great Britain, respectable or otherwise. The Muggle World gave him the anonymity that he wasn’t allowed in the Wizarding World.

While the press could be overwhelming at times, she’d never understood his desire to become just another face in the crowd. Who’d want to be a nobody? With the connections Harry had, he could accomplish so much.

She’d also never seen the benefit in hiding out in a Muggle pub. She’d never accompanied him to one, not even when he asked. She preferred Wizarding pubs like The Three Broomsticks, the Hog’s Head or The Leaky Caldron. Muggle pubs always seemed to be so very--Muggle. But now here she was in the middle of a Muggle pub filled with Muggles in the middle of a Muggle city.

Now she understood what it was about these places that Harry loved so much. Here, nobody knew her. She was just a nameless face in the crowd. Just another woman among a dozen or so others. Run of the mill. Ordinary. She wasn’t Harry Potter’s girlfriend or Ronald Weasley’s little sister or Hermione Granger’s sister-in-law. There weren’t any jealous fangirls to watch out for or fanboys trying to either hit on her or hit her up. She wasn’t being mobbed by so-called journalists just waiting for that one slip up that would allow them to make a name for themselves. What she had was anonymity.

It was strange to not have people watching her, whispering, pointing or asking her about Harry. At the same time, it was refreshing.

Here, she could get drunk and cry and bitch and moan and curse out Harry-I-Take-It-Up-The-Bum-From-Malfoy-Potter all she wanted and it wouldn’t be splashed all over the papers in the morning.

Because it had to be Malfoy Harry was having an affair with. There was no question.

They have been spending a lot of time together. Harry has spent more time with Malfoy just this past week than he has spent with her in the past two months.

The changes Harry had undergone in everything from the improvement of his etiquette to his personality to his wardrobe; he was starting to act and look and think just like Malfoy.

Then there were all the gifts Malfoy has presented to Harry over the year they’ve started hanging out; like that god-awful light in the dining room. From a certain point of view, with all the gifts Malfoy has given to Harry, for seemingly no reason at all, and all the times they‘ve been seen out together socially, one could argue that Malfoy was courting Harry. One reporter not too long ago made that very argument. At the time, Ginny had ignored the speculation. She’d had no reason to believe it was anything more than baseless crap.

Of course, there was also the knowledge that when push came to shove, Harry would choose Malfoy over her in a heartbeat. Or that when Harry gets into one of his moods, Malfoy was the only one who could snap him out of it.

She had no place in Harry’s heart let alone his life. She had gone from Harry’s best friend’s little sister to Harry Potter’s girlfriend and back again.

To her chagrin, she wasn’t drunk. How could she be when she’s been nursing a single glass of beer the entire night? It had long since grown warm and was most likely as flat as a crepe.

As much as she wished she was three sheets to the wind, she found she just wasn’t in the mood, which was funny because that was why she’d come here in the first place.

She’s never despised that she still lives with her parents more than she did this night. Her entire world had been flipped upside down--the rug had been pulled out from under her--and all she wanted was to curl up on the sofa or in bed with a tub of ice cream and have a good cry and curse the day she ever heard of Harry Potter. She could go home and do just that, but then of course, her mother would demand to know what happened and, unfortunately, Molly Weasley does not take no for an answer. Ginny would be forced to tell her the whole horrible ordeal because Molly Weasley would want nothing less than full disclosure and Ginny was just not in the mood to rehash the worst moment in her entire life. She didn’t want to be cuddled and fussed over. She didn’t want to see people looking at her in pity or with sympathy. She just wanted to forget today ever happened.

“Ginny?”

A familiar voice called out to her over the din, startling her. Ginny spun around and gaped at the tall male who approached her. She was completely gobsmacked. If this were one of those Muggle cartoons, her jaw would be on the floor. What were the odds of running into another witch or wizard here in the middle of nowhere? Especially when said wizard was an ex-boyfriend you haven‘t seen or heard anything from since before the war? “Michael?” she breathed in disbelief. “What…?”

With a large toothy grin, Michael Corner enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug. “Hey! It is you! It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you too,” she echoed, returning the hug. It felt good to be held, she decided.

“Ya know, I was just thinking about you,” he said. His breath ghosted passed her ear.

Ginny shivered in reaction. “Really? Good thoughts I hope,” she teased.

Michael laughed, tightening his hold briefly before pulling away. He slid into an empty stool besides her at the bar and ordered a beer. “So how are you?” he inquired covering her hand that rested on this slick bar top with his own.

Ginny blushed at the intimate touch. “Good--now that you’re here.” She was surprised how truthful that statement was.

“Uh, oh. What happened?”

Maybe it was the concern he was showing, despite the light, playful tone, or maybe the flippant way the question was asked that set Ginny off.

It really was over wasn’t it? Her fairytale romance with the love of her life was over before it could even begin. She’d been in love with Harry Potter since she was a child. She, like the rest of the Wizarding World, had grown up hearing the heroic tale of the Boy-Who-Lived who had, at fifteen months, defeated the Dark Lord who many had claimed to be unstoppable in his reign of terror. She’d always imagined him riding to her rescue atop a noble steed like a valiant knight to save her from an evil Wizard. He would defeat the evil wizard and together they would vanish into the sunset where they would live happily ever after.

Only reality was much different than her imagination. Instead of riding to her rescue, her valiant knight had ridden off into the sunset with the evil wizard while she remained imprisoned for all eternity.

As she felt the stinging pressure of tears beginning to fill her eyes, she forced a smile to remain on her lips and shook her head to vanquish the heavily depressing thoughts.

Though the hollowness inside her where Harry had resided ached, she would not let that son of a bitch win.

Michael must have seen something on her face for the teasing grin fell from Michael’s now worried face. “Gin?”

A single tear rolled unhindered down Ginny’s cheek. Her breath hitched. Her jaw started trembling. Her shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs.

All she’s heard lately was unkind criticism about how she was fucking up things with Harry. Everybody seemed to have ignored Harry’s part in the destruction of their relationship. It was always “Oh, Ginny, you didn’t.” and never “Harry, you idiot. What are you doing?” Michael was the first person to seem genuinely concerned about her and for her.

“Oh, Ginny.” Michael stood up and embraced her.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Michael’s waist and hugged him so tightly she heard Michael grunt. She buried her tear stained face in his chest and cried softly, “I’m sorry. It’s just been a really shitty day.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said softly as he tried to comfort his ex-girlfriend. He pulled away enough so that he could smile down at her. “Come on. Let’s say we get out of here huh? I’ve got a place not too far from here. I can make some tea, heat up some biscuits my mom sent me--because apparently without her there to cook for me I’m going to starve to death-”

Despite herself, Ginny chuckled.

“-and we can talk or not talk. Whatever. What do you say? Hm?”

Smiling, Ginny brushed at her wet cheeks and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good. C’mon.” Draping his arm around her shoulders, Michael steered Ginny out of the pub and out into the night.

 

**…To Be Continued…**

**Goatfish** \- U.S. fish with whiskers beneath mouth: a distinctively colored fish with two thin flexible appendages barbels beneath the mouth that are probably used as feelers. Native to: seabed in warm seas.

**ME** \- medical examiner

 


	3. Day Three

**Advice 2: Wheel of Fortune**  
 **Four-Shot**  
 **Sequel to:** Advice  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** While a rift forms between the Golden Trio, and Harry and Ginny start having premarital problems, Harry and Draco are growing closer. When a Ministry official is assassinated and the prime suspect turns out to be Draco, just how close these ex-rivals have become is revealed.  
 **Warning:** AU, infidelity, romance, drama, slash, OC character death, bashing, possible OOCness, OCs, m-preg, sexual situations, Mary Sues and Brit Picks need not apply.  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron. Mentioned: past Draco/Astoria, Astoria/OMC, Harry/Ginny, Ginny/Michael Corner  
 **Inserts:** recap from chapter 2  
 **A/N:** I’m my own beta, so I may have missed something. Let me now if you spot something I missed. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

**Last Time**

All she’s heard lately was unkind criticism about how she was fucking up things with Harry. Everybody seemed to have ignored Harry’s part in the destruction of their relationship. It was always “Oh, Ginny, you didn’t.” and never “Harry, you idiot. What are you doing?” Michael was the first person to seem genuinely concerned about her and for her.

“Oh, Ginny.” Michael stood up and embraced her.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Michael’s waist and hugged him so tightly she heard Michael grunt. She buried her tear stained face in his chest and cried softly, “I’m sorry. It’s just been a really shitty day.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said softly as he tried to comfort his ex-girlfriend. He pulled away enough so that he could smile down at her. “Come on. Let’s say we get out of here huh? I’ve got a place not too far from here. I can make some tea, heat up some biscuits my mom sent me- because apparently without her there to cook for me I’m going to starve to death-”

Despite herself, Ginny chuckled.

“-and we can talk or not talk. Whatever. What so you say? Hm?”

Smiling, Ginny brushed at her wet cheeks and nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good. C’mon.” Draping his arm around her shoulders, Michael steered Ginny out of the pub and out into the night.

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER III: Day Three**

**Morning - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

With his hands clasped over his forehead and the sheet tented over knees bent towards the ceiling, Harry stared up at the ceiling. His gaze was unfocused. His mind blessedly blank.

Harry hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d been able to grab five minutes here, five minutes there and he was exhausted. He was more tired now than he’d been when he went to bed. The problem was his thoughts were full of Ginny.

No, he wasn’t having second thoughts about Draco. Draco was the best thing that ever happened to him--of that, he was certain. The problem was the guilt he felt about the way he’d treated the woman that, at one time, he’d imagined spending the rest of his life with. There were no excuses; no rhyme or reason.

He had to talk to her.

If nothing more, he’d like to be able to call her a friend. It was not going to happen overnight, he knew that, but some day he hoped.

He was unsure how long he remained like that when movement besides him broke him from his stupor. Dropping his arms to his sides, he turned his head and gazed at his lover asleep on the bed besides him. A smile broke out across his face. Turning onto his side, being careful not to jiggle the bed too much as it would disturb Draco, Harry pillowed his head on his arm and reached out with his other hand to tuck a stray strand of blond hair behind Draco’s ear. Draco didn’t so much as twitch.

Pulling his hand back, Harry leaned over his sleeping lover and pressed their lips together.

How had his life changed so much in such a short amount of time? And without him even realizing it? Just two days ago, even though he’d been engaged to his long term girlfriend of five years--six counting the year they were together during his sixth year--he’d been living a life of a confirmed bachelor and had preferred the single life. But virtually overnight, his whole world changed.

As much as he’d loved Ginny, her presence in his life had become an obligation. It was something he’d had to endure because it was a necessary part of being in a relationship. He’d had to force himself to make time for her. That was not the case with Draco. Having Draco as a part of his life was a necessity like breathing or eating. He couldn’t imagine his life without Draco by his side.

Running his hands along Draco’s jaw, the blond stubble scratching his palms, Harry wondered how he had gotten so lucky. With the barest of touches, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s once again before quietly sliding out of bed.

As the sweatpants he’d worn the night before--before Draco vanished them--was nowhere to be seen, Harry summoned another pair along with a shirt. This one was a Slytherin green that said, “I’ve Had a Basilisk Running through My Chamber of Secrets” in silver lettering on the back. On the front over the left breast was a coiled snake hungrily eyeing a darkened train tunnel. It’d been a gag gift from George. Who would have thought it’d become so apropos?

Dressed, he slipped out of the bedroom, shutting the door silently behind him, and headed up to the converted attic.

The attic ran the entire length of the house so it was a fairly decent sized space that had been doing nothing more than collecting dust up until about a year ago when it’d been turned into an owlery and an office/lounge with attached full bath.

Both had been Draco’s idea.

Ever since Hedwig was killed, Harry hadn’t felt the need to buy another owl. He got by with using post-owls or his friend’s owls. Hedwig had been one of a kind. No other owl could hope to replace her or the bond the two of them had.

With no owl of his own, there hadn’t been a need to create space for an owl in the house. That was until Draco bought him one. It’d been one of the very first gifts from Draco.

Hence the owlery in the attic.

Then when Draco realized that Harry had no proper office to work out of when he worked from home, he took it upon himself to convert the remaining footage of the attic into an office that would have fit in better with Malfoy Manor.

Harry would have staged a protest, but then figured why waste the energy or the breath. It wasn’t his money, so why should he care how Draco spent it? If Draco wanted to waste his inheritance on someone like Harry then so be it. It was Draco’s money to do with what he choose. Who was Harry to argue against being taken on shopping sprees and having his house renovated on someone else’s dime?

With a yawn, Harry opened the door at the end of the hallway. On the other side was a set of stairs that led up to the attic; originally, the entrance to the attic had been a pull-down ladder, but Draco had taken care of that.

The top of the staircase opened up into the office/lounge that took up the front two-thirds of the attic. It overlooked the street, ensuring Harry actually did some work; not that that was a problem. The enclosed owlery was behind specially erected wards that kept the chill of the colder months, the stench and the noise of the owlery itself from seeping into the rest of the house. It looked out over the backyard.

Lucifer was one lucky owl.

Hermione had suggested the name Lucifer for Harry’s new owl not only because of Lucifer’s “disturbingly creepy appearance”--her exact words--but because Lucifer made a god-awful racket when approached by anyone who wasn’t either Harry or Draco. Lucifer was even known to attack the people Harry sent post to. It even attacked Ginny the first time Harry took her up to met him. Draco found Lucifer’s attitude and behavior highly amusing, which was probably why Lucifer still acted like he did.

Topping the last step, Harry paused to take in his office.

It was covered in beautiful rich cherry wood paneling and molding. Heavy forest green drapes tied back with gold pulls framed the windows that looked out over the street.

In front of the windows was his desk loaded down with files and papers he still had to go through. Draco called the desk a “heritage” desk, whatever that meant. Two armchairs sat angled in front of the desk.

Floor to ceiling built-in bookcases flanked a fireplace with an ornate, hand carved cherry wood mantel on the wall opposite the windows. The shelves of the bookcases were filled with books of varying size, shape, thickness and antiquity as well as knickknacks and various other artifacts. All of which had been meticulously picked out by Draco. An antique gold framed mirror hung on the wall above the mantel. A chaise longue, another antique upholstered in a dark green velvet, sat before the cold hearth with a small round cherry wood side table besides it.

The door that led to the owlery was to Harry’s immediate left tucked into the corner.

Due to the angle of the roof, there was hidden storage/crawl space interspersed along the entire length of the office because Draco had chosen to square off the attic during renovations. Press against certain panels along the lower half of the wall and the storage space is revealed.

A corkboard and a dry erase board had been built into the upper half of both the left and right hand walls. All were currently empty.

Harry sat down behind his desk and cleared a space. Pulling out a clean sheet of parchment, he grabbed a quill pen, dipping the silver tip into a vial of black ink, and proceeded to write a letter to his former fiancée.

Once finished, he reread what he wrote. It was short and to the point. He’d avoided making excuses for his actions. There was no groveling for her forgiveness. None of that. Not only did he feel none of that was necessary, he also knew that Ginny wasn‘t going to give a damn about anything he had to say. She was more likely to want to Avada Kedarva his sorry ass into the next millennium. Actually, now that he thought about it, she’d probably incinerate the letter the second she realized who it was from. There was no guarantee she would read it. But still, he had to try.

When he was satisfied, he folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope, sealed it with the newly created Potter-Black family crest pressed in red wax and printed Ginny‘s name on the front.

Pushing away from the desk, he stood up and made his way to the owlery.

He stepped through the door and halted at the sight that greeted him.

Two-year-old Lucifer perked up at the sight of him and trilled softly in greeting.

It wasn’t the sight of a placid owl his friends had taken to call The Devil Bird, but the second bird within the owlery, the very one cuddling against Lucifer’s side as if he belonged there that had given him pause. Harry recognized the owl. It was Draco’s owl Ares.

It didn’t appear as if Ares was carrying anything for Draco, so what was he doing here? When had he gotten here? Harry couldn’t remember sensing the wards being tripped last night. But then again he had been a little distracted.

Crossing towards the owls, Harry greeted Lucifer softly so as not to disturb a slumbering Ares. “Hey boy.”

The black as night owl nipped at his fingers and hooted softly back.

“Looks like you made a new friend huh?”

Lucifer hooted a second time. He looked almost smug.

Snorting, Harry shook his head. He wondered if Draco knew his owl was here. “I need you to deliver a letter to Ginny for me, okay?”

Lucifer glared at him. Like Kreacher, Lucifer was not a big fan of Ginny’s.

“C’mon. Please? You don’t even have to wait for a response.” Dear Merlin, he thought, he’d been reduced to begging his own post owl to deliver the post.

In response, Lucifer stuck out a leg, but he turned his head away. If Lucifer had a nose, Harry bet it would be in the air.

Harry sighed as he tied the scrolled up letter to the owl’s leg.

Ignoring him, Lucifer turned towards Ares, hooted and nipped at Ares’ feathers, as if he were preening them. Ares pried open an eye, gave Lucifer a short, low hoot that sounded annoyed, before closing his eye and rearranging himself before seemingly falling back asleep.

Harry watched all this with an amused smile on his face and a cocked eyebrow.

With a rustling of feathers and without a second glance at Harry, Lucifer took off with the letter through the window that had been charmed to open and close before and after the owls.

Feeling slighted, Harry blinked after his owl and said, “Well.”

Ares peered up at him, looking annoyed. The bird proceeded to turn its back on Harry where it immediately lifted its tail feathers and shit all over Harry’s bare foot.

With a curse, Harry jumped back away from the perch.

Later, he would swear that Ares laughed at him.

Muttering about Devil Birds, Harry limped to the attached bathroom to wash the bird shit from his foot as he’d conveniently forgotten his wand back in his bedroom.

“Harry! You up there?” he heard a few minutes later as he was stepping out of the bathroom with a clean foot.

“Yeah! Be down in a sec,” Harry called back.

Before leaving his office, Harry detoured to the owlery. Ares started squawking what sounded like a laugh at the sight of him.

“It’s not funny,” Harry sneered at the damnedable bird.

Ares just squawked harder.

Rolling his eyes, Harry retreated, shut the owlery door and made his way back downstairs where Draco was waiting, his hair sleep tousled. The sight alone had Harry fighting back his reawakening morning erection. He gulped. It hurt. Dear Merlin. He could not get over the fact that the blond Adonis standing before him looking as if he’d just had the best shag of his life was his. His!

“Was that Luc making all that racket?” Draco inquired as Harry shut the attic door behind him.

“No.” Harry had to clear his throat violently before he said that simple one-syllable world. Was it hot in here or was it just him--or rather Draco? “That was Ares,” Harry corrected.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Ares?”

“Yup,” Harry said as he led Draco back to the bedroom. He wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist, hugging himself to his lover’s side and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. There was a tiny insignificant voice in the back of his head reprimanding him for acting like a love struck schoolgirl, but he just told it to shut the fuck up because he was love struck and therefore had every right to act as he pleased thank you very much.

“Ares as in-?”

“-as in your damnedable demon bird who shit all over my foot because I sent his pillow to deliver a letter.”

Draco halted, forcing Harry to stop as well. Turning his head to look down at him, the Slytherin cocked an eyebrow in question, so Harry told him what happened. In the end, Draco was in stitches.

“It’s not that funny,” Harry protested though his lips twitched.

“Oh, on the contrary I think it is.”

“Whatever.”

Snickering, Draco turned Harry towards him and splayed his hands over the round globes of Harry’s ass, pulling the slightly shorter male against him. He heard the indrawn breath followed by a throaty moan and felt the hardness against his own. “So, what say you and me,” Draco breathed into Harry’s ear, “go take a shower?”

Harry shivered in delight. Stepping out of the warmth of his lover’s arms, Harry grabbed the drawstrings of Draco’s borrowed sweatpants and with a wicked grin, used the drawstrings as a leash to pull an eager Draco along behind him towards the bathroom.

The door shut firmly behind them.

“By the way, Harry,” Draco’s voice drawled from behind the closed door.

“Hm?”

“Love the shirt.”

“You would,” Harry replied with a snort.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Hermione did not intend to procure a house-elf unless she could find one like Dobby. If she wanted or needed help around the house, she’d hire a servant, or get Ron to help her--with added incentive if need be--and not purchase a slave. SPEW may have been a miserable failure, much to her disappointment, but she remained faithful to her beliefs regarding the wellbeing and welfare of all magical creatures.

With no house-elf, Hermione found herself in the kitchen early that morning making breakfast.

As she stood at the stove flipping the bacon, a large dark blue ceramic bowl that was filled with homemade home fries and a white plate stacked high with buttered toast were settling themselves onto the kitchen table. With a flick of her wrist, the pan in which she’d used to fry the home fries levitated off the stove and sank into the sudsy water in the sink where it began to wash itself. A pink sponge began wiping down the counter clean of crumbs and butter droppings.

At the sound of movement behind her, Hermione glanced briefly over her shoulder. The kitchen door swung open and in shuffled her husband.

“Morning,” she greeted cheerfully. “You’re up early.”

Still in his flannel pajamas and his ginger hair on end, Ron yawned and scratched his stomach that was exposed by his stretching. Sighing, Ron blinked rapidly in an effort to dispel the sleep from his eyes and glanced blurrily into space.

Hermione had actually expected her husband to sleep in that morning since he hadn’t returned home last night until well after midnight. “Do you have to go in this morning?”

In response, Ron grunted. With a yawn, he flopped down into the chair nearest the door.

Hermione sighed in exasperation as she transferred the last of the bacon from the cast iron skillet to a paper towel lined plate. “At least take a Pepper-Up,” she said.

Being married to an Auror was nerve-racking as it was without having to worry about her husband overexerting himself into a hospital bed because of his refusal to take the recommended down time. Lack of adequate rest had been the downfall of many an Auror. Ron didn’t become obsessed with a case as Harry did, but Ron did have the tendency to work long hours on little to no sleep depending on what the case was he was working on--and whether or not he’d teamed up with Harry. There were those people who could function on very little sleep and without the use of aides such as a Pepper-Up Potion. Unfortunately, Ron wasn’t one of those people. That caused Hermione to worry.

With his chin propped in his hand and his eyes half closed, Ron asked, “Do we have any?”

“We should.” She made sure they always had an adequate supply on hand for just such occasions.

Starting to nod off, Ron hummed, but shot to attention when Hermione placed the plate of bacon besides the toast and home fries.

Meanwhile, the pan she’d used to fry the bacon had dumped its greasy contents into a tin can she’d set aside earlier just for that purpose before vanishing the pan beneath the suds of the sink.

Ron grabbed several slices of bacon and shoveled them into his mouth.

Hermione turned back to the stove, rolling her eyes as her husband inhaled the food before him. “What kind of eggs you want?” she asked as the pan in which she’d used to make the fries, now clean, settled down on the stove.

“Whatever,” Ron said around a mouthful of bacon.

Grabbing the egg carton, Hermione set about making three eggs sunny-side up for Ron and a single egg over-medium for herself. Wondering if it was the reason he didn’t get home until late, she asked, “Were there complications with that cold case you were telling me about? The one where the husband disappeared, right? Wasn‘t the wife suspected at the time?”

“Yeah,” Ron answered around a mouthful of potatoes, “but the Aurors who originally investigated the husband’s disappearance couldn’t find anything to suggest anything other than what the wife was claiming.” Chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth, Ron pulled out his wand and gave it a flick.

As Hermione was plating the eggs, she watched as invisible hands flung open an upper cupboard door, pulled out a chipped navy blue mug and settled it on the countertop besides the coffeemaker. The glass carafe was lifted out of the coffeemaker by those same invisible hands and poured coffee into the mug.

Hermione shook her head.

It had to be a Pureblood thing, she decided, for she and Harry had a tendency to forego the use of their magic when they were perfectly capable of accomplishing the task without. Well, she did at any rate. She had a feeling Harry just plain forgot he had magic at times.

Ron made a face as he sipped his coffee. It’d gone cold. Shaking his wand back into his hand from its disillusioned holster, he tapped the rim of the mug and muttered a Word. Immediately steam began rising from the mug. This time when Ron took a sip, he smiled. Perfect. “If the D’Salvatore family hadn’t dug up the old well, it would have remained a missing person’s case.”

“What happened? You never did say.”

“Turned out the guy was bashed over the head with a statue and buried in the well out back. We were able to track down the wife and arrested her when her fingerprints were found all over the statue that had been tossed into the well besides the husband.”

“Good.” Hermione nodded as she slid into a chair opposite her husband’s and began plating herself some breakfast before it was all gone.

“Didn’t get have the chance to interview her yet though. She‘ll either plead not guilty or claim it was done in self-defense. If the courts still allowed it, she might plead temporary insanity or some such rot.” Ron exchanged his coffee for his fork and dug into his eggs. “Anyway, I was called to Edinburgh-” he explained around a mouthful of eggs. Bits of eggs went flying.

Hermione grimaced and very nearly lost her appetite, but forced herself to eat something because she had a deposition that afternoon. It wouldn’t do to have an empty stomach.

“-to the scene of a body dump,” he continued. “Turns out it was Harry’s CI.”

Her fork halted halfway to her mouth, Hermione’s head snapped up. She glanced wide eyed across the table at her husband. “His what?” Her brow furrowed in thought briefly. “Oh! You mean his informant?”

“Yup,” Ron nodded.

“Oh no,” she moaned. “What happened?”

Ron launched into an explanation of what he’d found at the scene and the conclusions he‘d drawn. He followed it by telling her what he, Harry and Malfoy had spoken about, including Harry and Malfoy’s conspiracy theories, when he‘d gone to inform Harry of his informant‘s death. Ron wasn’t sure what to make of any of it yet. There was no proof as of yet that the suspected murder of Harry’s informant had anything to do with the Black Market Ring Harry and Malfoy were unofficially working on, but there wasn’t anything proving it didn’t either.

Hermione sat there with a thoughtful expression on her face, her breakfast long forgotten. “This could be bad.”

Ron snorted, “You think?” He took a long sip of his coffee.

Hermione’s contemplation was cut short by the sudden flutter of wings. A barn owl sat on the sill of the open window. A bag was strapped around its neck. The post owl delivered The Daily Prophet.

Ron, realizing the owl was not an official correspondent from the Ministry, ignored it in favor of filling his plate with a second helping of everything.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione pushed away from the table and crossed the kitchen towards the owl, making sure to snatch a piece of bacon off Ron’s plate to feed to the owl. She ignored his cry of, “Hey”.

Grabbing the money for the paper out of the dish on the icebox, she fed the bacon to a grateful owl who nibbled her finger affectionately, placed the money in the pouch and took the paper. The owl took off with a hoot.

With the paper in hand, Hermione returned to the table. She scanned the front page and gasped when a particular story caught her eye.

“What? What is it?” Ron demanded, his head snapping up.

“Head Auror Pieletska. It says here he passed away yesterday morning.”

His expression going neutral, Ron nodded and stood up. He went to the coffeemaker and poured himself another cuppa. “Yeah. Rumors were circulating around the Department last night, but nobody knew for sure one way or another, but then Moore confirmed it was true when he sent me to Edinburgh.”

“So it’s true then?” She glanced briefly up at him before returning her gaze to the paper.

“Yeah. Guess he just passed away sometime during the night.”

“Yeah. It says,” Hermione read aloud, “that tests didn’t reveal any sign of foul play.”

Leaning against the counter, his hands warming as they cupped the mug, Ron stared down into the almost black liquid.

Setting the paper down, Hermione looked at her husband. “Isn’t that a bit odd though? That the Head Auror was admitted into the hospital for what the Healers said was a minor stroke and he ends up dying?”

Ron shrugged. “Not really. It happens.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought, Hermione looked back down at the paper.

Knowing that look all too well, Ron pushed away from the counter and returned to the table. “Look, ‘Mione,” he said, “there isn’t some sort of cover-up surrounding Pieletska’s death. He fell asleep and never woke. That’s it. End of story. The End. Thank you and good night.”

Hermione nodded; not in agreement Ron knew. “I just…find it--odd-”

Ron heaved a heavy sigh. Shaking his head, he pushed his chair back and stood back up. Picking up his dishes, he carried them to the sink. “Yes, Pieletska wasn’t well liked around the Department. He made life hell for a lot of people, especially Harry, and a lot of those people probably contemplated murdering the snarky bastard at one time or another and I bet those same people aren’t going to mourn his death, but that doesn’t mean there’s some sort of conspiracy for you to uncover. Saint Mungo’s hired independent experts to come in and run the tests, but of course there’s always going to be that person that won’t be satisfied with any explanation other than the one they believe is ‘accurate’.”

Hermione nodded as she absently scanned the paper. She understood what Ron was saying. She just found it a bit coincidental that the Head Auror had passed away of “natural causes” after suffering a “minor stroke” the Healers all said he would fully recover from.

Swallowing the last of his coffee, Ron half turned and dumped his cup in the sink.

“What’s this about Malfoy having been arrested yesterday?” she asked her husband as another article caught her attention.

“Oh yeah! Harry told me about that when I went to question him last night. I guess they went to meet with their informant-”

“The one who was killed?”

“Yeah,” Ron confirmed with a nod. “-and about a dozen Aurors appeared out of nowhere and arrested him. Apparently they believed Pieletska was murdered, even though there wasn’t any evidence, and arrested Malfoy, even though Malfoy had a solid alibi.”

“Says the charges were dropped-”

“Seeing the charges were unfounded.” Ron did not believe that Malfoy was as completely innocent as he claimed he was, but even Ron knew it was idiotic to arrest a man for a crime that either did not happen or for one in which there was no evidence incriminating said man. If a man made a threat against someone and that someone was found dead in bed the next morning, that threat was not enough evidence to convict the man and neither was arresting a suspect merely because you did not like him.

“-and that he plans on suing the Aurors who arrested him as well as the Auror Department, the DMLE and the Ministry,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard Ron speak.

“Not surprised.”

“‘Acting Head Auror D’Arcy Moore has called for a full investigation into the matter’,” Hermione read.

“About time. There‘s been rumors about these guys circulating for years, but Pieletska never did anything, just allowed them to run around doing whatever they pleased.”

“‘The Aurors in question have meanwhile been placed on administrative paid leave pending the outcome of the investigation.’”

Ron hummed deeply in his throat. “Departmental policy.” A quick tempus confirmed how late it was getting. “I got to get ready for work.” He was halfway out the kitchen door when his wife called out to him.

“Hey, Ron?”

Ron turned back towards her. “Yeah?”

Hermione was decidedly not looking at her husband. Instead, she was staring down at the paper that she’d laid flat on the table so her hands were free to relocate her fried potatoes from one side of her plate to another. “Did you have an opportunity to speak to Harry last night?” she asked him. “I realize it may not have been the best time, but-”

Ron shook his head negatively, knowing that Hermione wasn’t referring to him speaking to their friend in general, but about something very specific--mainly about one Draco Malfoy. It was something that was going to have to happen eventually. But knowing it had to happen did not make it any easier to have. “Not yet.”

Hermione nodded.

There was something he had done concerning Harry. Despite arriving home well after midnight last night, he’d been unable to fall asleep right away. Instead, he’d spent hours thinking. Specifically, he’d been thinking about Harry and Malfoy and he’d come to a startling realization that wasn’t sitting very well with him. Knowing his wife, Hermione probably already knew, but Ron found himself saying it anyway. “But I think he’s sleeping with Malfoy.”

There was silence.

“I know,” Hermione whispered.

 

* * *

 

**Half an Hour Later - Corner Residence - Northumberland, England**

Morning came too soon for Michael.

He and Ginny had stayed up all night talking. They’d only just fallen asleep when the distant horizon began lighting with the approaching dawn. Only one subject had been taboo and that was Harry Potter. This led Michael to the conclusion that whatever happened to drive his ex-girlfriend to the Horney Goatfish last night had something to do with her fiancé. Or was that ex-fiancé now? Michael was starting to believe that to be the case as he’d noticed last night that there was nothing but an indentation on Ginny’s ring finger where he assumed her engagement ring used to rest. There was obviously some sort of trouble in paradise.

Yawning, Michael dropped a teabag into the boiling water that filled his black coffee mug. Instantly, swirls of color overcame the colorless hue of the water. Already, there was an almost citrus-y scent that filled the tiny kitchen. In his other hand was The Daily Prophet turned to the sports section.

An insistent tapping interrupted Michael’s perusal of last night’s quidditch scores.

Looking up, Michael blinked at the sight before him. Flapping outside the window above the kitchen sink was what appeared to be a snowy owl, but instead of the pure white feathers, this owl had feathers blacker than night. It even had black eyes. It was like looking into an abyss.

Michael shuddered.

The owl, realizing it had been spotted, screeched. Michael cringed at the sound. It sounded like a screech owl only a thousand times worse.

Setting the paper aside, Michael slid down the bench and stood up. Rounding the table, he crossed towards the sink and tossed open the window. The owl flew inside and circled overheard a couple of times before landing on the table. It thrust its leg out and hooted shrilly at him. If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d swear the owl was giving him the evil eye.

He shivered.

Gulping, Michael slowly approached the owl. It eyed him warily.

He reached out tentatively for the scroll tied to the owl’s proffered leg and had to immediately withdraw his hand to keep it from being gnawed off or peeked into Swiss cheese by the owl that went after his hand with another ear-piercing screech. Muttering angrily about Devil Birds, Michael cautiously tried to relieve the owl from its burden a second time and succeeded. It was touch and go there for a moment or two for it looked as if the owl was readying itself for another round of attacks, but in the end, it kept its beak and claws to itself.

Michael exhaled noisily, sagging in relief, as the owl took off with yet another screech.

“What was that?” exclaimed Ginny as she pushed through the door into the kitchen, fresh from the shower. She peered around the tiny but tidy kitchen. At this time of day, it was flooded with light.

“A Devil Bird,” Michael muttered as he unfurled the scroll.

Ginny laughed, “A what?”

“A devilbird,” he repeated. “Ya know, like a devilfish? You ever heard of those?”

“Nope,” she said getting a coffee mug out of the cabinet.

“It’s a fish that’s supposed to have an evil-looking appearance like an octopus or something.”

Ginny snorted, “Octopus.”

“Only this bird didn’t just look evil. It was evil.”

Still laughing, Ginny asked, “How?” as she made herself a cup of tea.

“It was completely black: its feathers, it’s eyes; and made this horrible screeching sound. Very nearly made my ears bleed.”

Paling, Ginny froze.

“It dropped this off for you.” When she made no move to take the letter he was waving around, he grew concerned. He dropped the letter to the table. “Ginny?” Michael called out to her softly. “Ginny are you alright?”

Shaking herself, Ginny forced herself to smile. “Yeah. Fine. Still a little tired is all.” Setting her mug aside, she crossed towards where he sat at the kitchen table and took the envelope. She stiffened at the symbol pressed into the red wax that was sealing the envelope closed.

She’d been right. It was from Him.

Last night had been incredible. To be able to forget her troubles for just a little while had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders. She’d been able to relax and have a good time and had even been able to have a good night’s sleep for the first time in a long time. She’d woken this morning well rested and with a smile on her face. She could not remember the last time that happened.

Last night, Harry Potter had been effectively erased from her mind like a well-aimed obliviate. But now…

“Ginny?”

Realizing she was shaking and on the verge of tears, Ginny shook the gloomy, heavy air of depression aside and smiled at the man before her. She didn’t want him to worry unnecessarily. He did enough of that last night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Ginny didn’t give the envelope one last glance before stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Now,” she continued, giving the kitchen a weary glance, “tell me you have more than just ramen, tea and beer in this dump. I’m starving.”

Must have been from her ex, Michael realized. That meant the Devil Bird that very nearly killed him belonged to him. Michael shook his head at that. To think the Savior would keep something that was clearly vicious and malicious and what was so obviously a harbinger of death as a pet was a little scary. It was a bird that would have suited You-Know-Who perfectly.

Michael shook all thoughts of The Bird from Hell out of his mind and allowed Ginny to change the subject. It was clear that she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, so he wasn’t going to push. When she was, he’d lend her an ear, a shoulder or anything else she required. Last night he’d made sure to make that clear to her.

“Of course I do,” he scoffed haughtily, insulted and slighted that she would dare to call his flat a dump. “I also have corn flakes.”

Ginny snorted out a laugh. Michael thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

 

* * *

 

**Two Hours Later - Apothecarius Dracon - Diagon Alley**

Draco was humming. Not only that, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. It was likely to scare off customers--both regular as well as potential new ones--but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never been more satisfied with his life as he was at that moment.

Now he just had to inform his parents of his new status.

In the laboratory located at the back of what was the main branch of his string of apothecaries, Draco stood at a butcher block worktable on which stood a small cold cauldron. He sprinkled into the cauldron a handful of basil that had been dried out and then crushed.

His hand paused, hovering briefly over the elderflower petals that had dried out as well as a stray thought hit him out of nowhere. He had to search for a new runner.

He shook that thought aside to deal with another day.

After tossing the dried elderflower petals into the cauldron, Draco picked up his wand and lit the flames beneath the cauldron.

Now he waited until the basil and the flower turned to ash. Then he could add the dragon’s blood.

He was brewing a potion for a client who wanted to bind a troublemaker who kept defacing the park near her house and tearing up the flora she‘d painstakingly planted herself. The potion was borderline illegal and was thus a Backdoor Job. These were the jobs Harry turned a deliberate blind eye towards, which Draco much appreciated.

Surprisingly, Harry’s opinion about Light versus Dark and Good versus Evil were not as cut and dry as one would believe given that he‘d been molded as the Scion of the Light. Maybe his parents wouldn’t have such a harsh opinion of his lover if they knew that.

He made a mental note to owl his mother and ask if she would care to join him for tea.

On a related topic, Draco wondered how the Weasel and Granger would react if they knew about their best friend was having a love affair with the Dark Lord’s right hand man’s son. They’d probably have coronaries.

Though, if he were being honesty with himself, he frankly could care less what anybody thought about his relationship with Harry. The only opinion that mattered to him was Harry’s.

He would do whatever it took to keep Harry at his side. Anything. Even if that meant defying his parents, whom he loved dearly and was fiercely loyal to, as well as those Harry was close to.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

Having finally arrived at the Ministry--Draco really was insatiable--Harry was currently awaiting confirmation from Acting Head Auror Moore. He’d gone directly to Moore’s office upon arrival half an hour ago, but according to his secretary, Moore was currently unavailable, but she would let him know when Moore was able to meet with him.

Harry was beginning to become antsy.

The door to his office was closed and the blinds half-drawn, but he hadn’t erected a silencing ward so he could hear the din from the bullpen, as muffled as it was.

He had a bunch of terrific witches and wizards working for him. Most have been part of the Homicide Division long before he stepped foot within the Auror Academy. A couple was here before there even was a Homicide Division. He trusted each and every one of them. That included Ron. Just because their friendship was going through some things currently, didn’t mean the sixteen year history they had together never happened.

There was a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. Tense and immediately on alert, Harry turned towards the movement. Immediately he relaxed as he spotted a piece of paper fluttering in the air as if it were a bird. An interdepartmental memo. Jumping to his feet, Harry circled his desk and snatched the memo out of the air as the thought of it being from Moore crossed his mind; it didn’t cross his mind to use magic to fetch it, though.

Unfolding it, Harry scanned the brief but to the point message: Moore would see him now.

Turning sharply on his heel, Harry set the memo on his desk and picked up a small stack of files before exiting out in the bullpen.

“Listen up,” he called loudly. Silence immediately fell. A dozen faces turned to regard him. “We have an unassisted death in Stratford-upon-Avon. Middle-aged woman was found dead in her loft. Harris.”

Carlotta Harris, five years his senior, stood from her cubicle with a, “Sir,” before stepping forward and taking the proffered file.

“A possible suicide in Belfast. Greene.”

Timothy Greene strode forward from where’d he’d been leaning against a table set against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest and took the file. “Possible?” he inquired further as he glossed over the single report in the file.

“Muggle Priest claims that when he was walking from the rectory to the church, he heard a shout from within the church, which he’d secured himself the night before. When he gets into the church, he finds a man hanging from the rafters. Dead. The Priest has a younger sister who‘s Muggleborn and he called her instead of Muggle authorities when he recognized the wand near the deceased’s body. ”

Greene nodded and walked off.

“And a shooting in Nottinghamshire. The Sherwood Forest, actually, if you can believe that.”

“A shooting? As in with a Muggle gun, sir?” Rosenstein asked above the sudden whispering.

“As in. Batterley, I want you to take this.”

“Yes, sir,” a woman from the very back said.

Harry sent her the file with a flick of his hand. Batterley was not only Muggleborn, but she came from a long line of police officers. She was actually a liaison between the Auror Department’s Homicide Division and the Muggle police. “Now,” he said once he’d finished assigning the new cases, “does anybody not have anything to do?”

Silence.

“Good. Get to work.” Harry turned to make his way to Moore’s office when a mouse of a girl, Heidi Christ, called out to him.

“Sir? About this cold case I’m working on?”

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. “The one where the French girl went missing while on vacation in London?”

“Yes, sir. Sir, I was-”

“Walk with me.”

The girl shot up from her seat and fumbled with a mess of papers and folders before scrambling after him, who was halfway to the elevator already. As Christ filled him in the case of the missing foreign tourist who was presumed dead, they passed Ron who was exiting from the interview rooms. He looked flustered.

“Claimed self-defense didn’t she?”

With an exasperated sound, Ron rolled his eyes at him.

Harry chuckled. Turning back to Christ, he inquired, “What about the lover? What we have on him?”

They chatted about the case all the way to Moore’s office with Harry adding his two cents and some suggestions.

“Keep me informed,” he told her.

“Yes, Sir,” Christ agreed with a nod.

Harry didn’t watch her leave. Instead, he turned to face the closed office door of the Head Auror.

During Pieletska’s tenure as Head Auror, he’d moved the Head Auror’s office from the DMLE to the same floor as the Minister of Magic. Talk about delusions of grandeur. That guy sure had been a piece of work.

He ran his hands down his uniform and made himself as presentable as he possibly could, nodding to Ministry workers that he knew.

Taking a deep breath, he raised a hand and knocked. A breathy voice called for him to enter.

“Morning Melinda,” Harry greeted the woman behind the desk.

“Morning Auror Potter.” Melinda returned the greeting with a warm smile.

From the moment Harry met Melinda Foster, he’d been reminded of the Minerva McGonagall he’d met as a wet behind the ears first year--minus the stern I just swallowed a lemon expression. Maybe that was way he’d taken to her right away.

She continued, “You can go right in.”

“Thank you.”

The breathy whisper Melinda used when speaking reminded many, who knew of the Muggle star, of Marilyn Monroe, but unlike Marilyn Monroe whose was said to have been an act, Melinda‘s was not. As a toddler, Melinda suffered a severe bout of laryngitis. The Healer her parents took her to mixed up the potions and instead of curing the laryngitis, made it permanent.

Crossing the outer office to the Head Auror’s private office, Harry raised a hand and knocked. At a curt, “Enter”, he stepped into the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

The man sitting behind the desk in front a grouping of windows that had been charmed to look out over the countryside appeared to be about the same age as Arthur Weasley. He had short dark red-brown hair that had been slicked back and piercing chocolate brown eyes. A diamond stud sparkled in his ear.

“Sir,” Harry greeted his new boss with a nod. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

With his arms crossed over his belly, Moore sat back in the black leather chair that gave a particularly loud squeak in protest. “Of course,” he said as he regarded Harry. “Please have a seat.”

As Harry was settling himself in the visitor’s chair, much to his pleasure, he noted that the chair was not the same one from when he’d been called into this very office just two days ago. It didn’t wobble precariously and was cushioned.

Moore sat forward, his chair squeaking once again, and laced his hands together on top of the desk. “What can I help you with? If this is about Draco Malfoy being falsely arrested-”

“No, sir,” Harry denied as he say ramrod straight upon the chair and his hands folded demurely in his lap, “but I would like to thank you for looking into the incident. Both Draco and I appreciate it.”

Moore inclined his head. “Think nothing of it, Potter. As a member of this department, Malfoy has the right to have the incident, and those involved in the incident, investigated.”

Harry was in shock at Moore’s words. Shaking himself, Harry grew somber, and said, “I wanted to speak to you about my CI.”

“The one who was found dead in Edinburgh last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“According to Weasley’s report, you and Malfoy were the last to see him.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir. He had some information concerning the Black Market Fertility Potion Case we‘ve been working on.”

Interested, Moore leaned forward. “What kind of information?”

Harry studied Moore silently. Could he trust this man? Pieletska had hated his guts and tried everything within, and outside of, his power to get rid of both him and Draco. Pieletska had never taken anything he had to say seriously. Harry never worked with Moore before or worked with anyone who had worked with Moore. Under Pieletska’s reign, Moore had been nothing more than a pretty face to parade around to the media. Pieletska had given himself complete control. What he did know was that Moore had done the one thing his predecessor never would have done: publicly acknowledged Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, as a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Pieletska never would have done that.

Maybe things really could change and for the better.

“Sir…” Harry hesitated.

“What I heard, these VIPs be getting kickbacks for pretending they see nothing, for overlooking certain deals that go down. They make certain things and people disappear, lose paperwork, grease palms. Know what I’m saying? In return, they get a cut of the action, a generous percentage.”

And change they would if what Sting told him and Draco yesterday was true. Many people’s lives were going to be flipped upside down and those people were all going to blame him. Overnight he would go from the Savior to the Destroyer. But he couldn’t let that stop him. It wouldn’t be the first time the wizarding population turned on him and it wouldn’t be the last.

“What he told us…Sir, you might want to call the Minister and have him join us.”

Moore cursed.

 

* * *

 

**That Afternoon - Afternoon Delights - Bannum Alley**

“Well,” Narcissa Malfoy drawled.

She, along with her son, was sitting in a quaint little teashop located within the heart of the affluent shopping district of Bannum. Upon her arrival, she’d immediately spotted the French Wizarding President with a drop-dead gorgeous young woman who appeared younger even than Draco, a woman decidedly not the President’s wife. There were also several members of the Wizengamot clustered together in the back as well as a couple obviously in the beginning stages of courting.

His back straight, shoulders back and chin held high, Draco faced his mother with determination and her own stubbornness shinning in his blue-gray eyes. “Mother-”

“Hush, now, Draco,” Narcissa scolded lightly. “You know never to interrupt someone when they are speaking.”

Feeling as if he were five years old, Draco nodded curtly. “My apologies, Mother. I was merely going to say that I did not tell you about Harry in order to gain your permission. I have chosen to become involved with him and no matter your or father’s opinion, that will not change.”

A smile crossed Narcissa’s newly lined faced making her appear as she had before the war had forcibly aged her so. “Do you love him?”

Draco’s soft softened. “Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes.”

Narcissa nodded. “As long as you are happy. That is all I wish.”

“I am Mother.”

“Good.”

“Thank you Mother…But…What about Father?”

Narcissa waved her son’s inquiry aside as if it were a gnat. “Leave your father to me.”

Draco inclined his head. “If that is what you wish Mother.” He took a sip of his tea. His mother did the same.

“Do you plan on moving into the Manor? Have you and Harry talked about where you will live after you marry?”

Draco did not bother to suppress a shudder. “I would think not, Mother. I have not stepped foot with the Manor since the war and never plan to until a Cleansing is done--several in fact. The closest I have come to the manor is Harry’s house in Swindon.” And that was the truth. His parents had not been back to Malfoy Manor since the end of the war either. Instead, they’d moved into the château in France. He himself stayed at the townhouse in London. Draco could not remember the last time a Malfoy had stayed at the townhouse. It’d sat abandoned for as long as anyone could tell. But living in a house the size of his closet at the Manor was better than staying at the manor. “And no, we have not spoken about where we will live after we marry. As we have only been together for two days, we have not even spoken of marriage.”

Narcissa tsked. “Has it only been two days? Or has it been two days, my little dragon?”

Draco merely stared at the woman. “Mother? Are you seriously…?” He could not believe what he was hearing. What he’d expected was opposition from his mother concerning his choice in partners. He’d prepped before hand--as much as one could when the opposition was one’s own mother--for that very scenario. This, on the other hand, was a development even he had not seen coming.

“I am thinking a winter wedding,” his mother was saying.

To think his mother was so gung-ho for her son’s new romantic liaison with someone she once considered an enemy that she was already planning the wedding…

Harry is going to laugh himself to death over this one, Draco thought in mortification as his mother went on to discuss the honeymoon.

“What about a nudist colony?”

Scandalized and horrified, Draco practically screamed, his face red in mortification, “Mother!”

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

Here it was lunchtime and Harry was exhausted though the day was only half over. He was tempted to stop for the day. As the boss, of the Homicide Division anyway, he should be able to leave whenever he felt like it and he knew many of his colleagues did just that. He knew that was what Pieletska used to do constantly. But Harry never had--voluntarily at least. He’d been bullied by Ron and a few of the others once or twice to take off for one reason or another. He’d reluctantly complied, but of course, he hadn’t gone home to rest like they all said he should. As long as he wasn’t on his deathbed, he was damned if he was going to lollygag around when he could be helping someone.

With a heavy sigh, Harry collapsed in the armchair besides the fireplace. Closing his tired eyes, he leaned his head back against the back of the chair. Immediately, he felt the tension slip away.

“That is a serious accusation, Mr. Potter,” the Minster of Magic said after he’d told him, Moore and the Head of the DMLE the conclusions he and Draco had come to the night before--another one of their “conspiracy theories” as Ron called them.

Harry hadn’t thought to include the Head of the DMLE in on the conversation, but he was glad that the man had been meeting with the Minister when Moore floo called.

The four men spent the entire morning pouring over the Pensieve memories Harry provided and were still doing so when Harry left and were most likely still at it, not that he could blame them. Like they said, this was not something to be taken lightly. They even planned to summon Draco to the Ministry the next day to question him about his version of events.

Moore, the Head of the DMLE and the Minister vowed to investigate the matter. What happened after that would be decided when the investigation was finished and who knows how long that would take.

At least the matter was going to be looked into. If Pieletska had still been in charge of the Auror Department, he would have scoffed at Harry’s accusations and booted his ass for making unfounded allegations.

Moore might not have had any aspirations of becoming the Head of the Aurors, but he certainly made a fine Head.

A chime whispered through his office.

Snapping his head up, his eyes flying open, he zeroed his gaze on the fireplace that had blazed to life with a very familiar head surrounded by green flame. Sliding off the chair to his knees before the hearth, Harry smiled brightly at the unexpected visitor. “Andy! Hey!”

“Hey Harry,” Andromeda Tonks nee Black greeted him with a smile that was strained around the edges. “This isn’t a bad time is it?”

“No! Not all. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Other than Teddy demanding to know when you’re going to come by and visit? Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Harry chuckled. “Sorry about that. Things have been a little hectic lately.” To say the least, he thought.

“Of course,” Andromeda nodded. “That would be given as you head your own division.”

Harry nodded.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Teddy.”

Harry snapped to attention. Worry flooded through his at the mention of his godson. “Is he alright?” he demanded in alarm. “Has-?”

A light smile on her lips, Andromeda shook her head. “Oh not to worry. Runs me ragged with all that excess energy he has, but he’s fine.”

Harry sagged with relief.

“I was actually wondering if you wouldn’t mind watching him for an hour or so tomorrow.”

“Sure.” It wasn’t a request Harry had to even think over. Lately, he hadn’t been spending as much time as he used to with his godson. He’d take any excuse to spend time with the little metamorphmagus. “Got a date?” he teased.

Andromeda blushed. “No, no,” she denied with a shake of her head. “Just a Healer’s appointment.”

Concern flooded through Harry once again. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s just time for my annual checkup.”

Harry nodded. “That’s good. I have to work tomorrow, but I can take off early.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I‘m always being told I work too much anyway.”

Andromeda chuckled. “I’ll drop him off a little before noon.”

“Bring him here. A new Muggle comic bookstore opened up just down the street.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “You spoil him Harry.”

“Of course. What else are godfathers for?”

After speaking for several more minutes, Andromeda had to plead out. Her grandson was dying of starvation.

“Give him my love,” Harry said.

“I will.”

After the call ended, Harry swung his legs out from under him and leaned back against the front of the chair he’d been sitting in just moments earlier. A happy smile was plastered on his face at the thought of spending the next afternoon with his five-year-old godson.

A thoughtful expression chased away the smile before long as he wondered what Andromeda’s reaction would be to his and her nephew being lovers. He had a feeling he knew how Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys were going to react, but he was uncertain when it came to Draco’s parents, and Andromeda and Teddy. Of course, he would like to have their blessing, but it wasn’t a necessity. Draco had become an important part of his life and no matter what other people may think, say or do, he was determined to keep Draco by his side for as long as possible.

 

* * *

 

**That Evening**

Despite the lateness of the hour, the Homicide Division was still abuzz with activity. It always amazed Ron how the entire division had turned into a bunch of workaholics. He shook his head in wonder at his colleagues’ determination as he crossed the bullpen towards his best mate‘s office.

Rapping lightly on the closed door, Ron pushed the door open and stuck his head inside without waiting for a reply. “Hey Boss.” He took in the sight of Harry standing bent over the side of his desk shoveling through a mound of paperwork. It was no wonder Harry always seemed to be working. He had a lot of work to do. “Heading home?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, glancing up briefly at Ron before returning to his task. “Got dinner plans.”

“Good,” Ron nodded jerkily. He squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of just whom Harry had dinner plans with.

There was a boom of laughter from the bullpen. Ron glanced over his shoulder. Davidson and Rosenstein had collided, causing both to spill their coffee all over Mitchell from Narcotics who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ron snickered.

Sobering, Ron stepped fully into the office and shut the door behind him. He turned around to face Harry who was watching him with a neutral expression on his face. “Look, mate,” Ron said. “I-”

“-broke up with Ginny,” Harry blurted.

Ron blinked across the office at Harry. “What?”

Sighing, Harry collapsed down in his chair behind his desk and waved Ron to take the visitor’s chair. “To be accurate, she ended things with me.”

A hundred different emotions and thoughts were racing through Ron as he tried and failed to absorb the startling news that Wizarding Britain‘s Royal Couple--as The Daily Prophet liked to call Harry and Ginny--had called it splitsville. Sure, Ginny and Harry had been having relationship trouble lately, but he’d just chalked it up their demanding careers. That was what he thought anyway until he’d walked in on Harry with Malfoy last night. Now, he knew the truth and apparently so did his sister.

Ron’s face shut down as anger swelled within him. His hands twitched to grab his wand and hex the man sitting five feet away from him to oblivion.

He turned his face away from Harry and stared across the room at the picture hanging on the wall above the mantel. It had been presented to Harry not long after they graduated from the Academy from a particularly well known wizarding artist as a thank you present for capturing his sister’s murderer. To this day, Ron had no idea what the subject matter of the painting was. It was an explosion of color and movement that made no sense whatsoever, but seemed to match the turmoil going on within him.

“She, uhm…” Harry faltered.

“She found out about Malfoy, didn’t she?” Ron guessed with a bit of a bite to his voice. Slowly, he turned back to face Harry just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of surprise and uncertainty wash across Harry’s face. They were here and gone so quickly that had Ron not been an Auror, he never would have seen them. It was the only confirmation Ron needed.

Sighing, Harry hung his head, his eyes closing. “Yes,” he confirmed. Lifting his head, Harry gazed over the desk at his best friend. “She did.”

Ron clenched his hands into fists to keep from going to his wand. He clenched his teeth together to keep from spewing words he’d later regret. “How long?”

“Two days.”

Cursing, Ron jumped to his feet and paced to the closed office door.

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Flabbergasted, Ron spun around.

Sitting behind his desk, his back straight, shoulders back, chin lifted, his eyes alight with determination, Harry said, “I love him, Ron. I love Draco and I am not going to apologize for that. However,” he continued over Ron’s protestation, “I am sorry for hurting Ginny like I did. There’s no excuse for that. Ginny…She deserves better.”

“Damn right she does,” Ron barked. Sighing, Ron marched back across the room and slumped in the visitor’s chair he’d just vacated. Dropping his face into his hands, he mumbled something about a “pointy faced git” followed by “ferret face”. The anger and violence that had risen within him unexpectedly at Harry’s admission drained away as suddenly as it appeared.

“Ron,” Harry called hesitantly.

Dropping his hands, Ron sat up and taking one look at Harry, shook his head. Standing, he opened his mouth to say something, but when he couldn’t find anything to say that didn’t begin and end with, “Fuck you”, Ron decided it was time to go.

He made his way back to the door.

With his hand on the doorknob, Ron said over his shoulder, “I’m going to need some time.”

“Of course.”

Ron nodded. Silence fell. It broke when he asked, “Are you happy with him?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Throwing open the door, Ron stepped out and shut the door calmly behind him. It wasn’t until he was back at his desk that he realized he’d forgotten to hand in his report on that cold case he’d been working on. “Sod it,” he muttered. He’d turn it in later after Harry was gone for the night. That way he wouldn’t have to see his face again. Who knew how long he’d be able to hold back the urge to kill the unfaithful bastard.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time -- The Burrow - Outside Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Arthur had fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the fire with his hot chocolate in one hand and a rectangular-shaped contraption in the other. Molly shook her head in bemusement at the sight, a smile on her face. She took both and set them on the coffee table. Then she grabbed the afghan hanging on the back of an armchair and covered her husband. Kissing him lightly on the forehead, Molly picked up the untouched hot chocolate and the Muggle thingamabob and strode into the kitchen. She was sorely tempted to toss the whatsit called into the trash, but knew from experience that Arthur would just go out and get another.

Him and his curiosity.

Setting the whatever it was on the counter, she dumped hot chocolate into the sink before turning and heading out of the kitchen, but movement out of the corner of her eye halted her progression. She had her wand out and a string of curses ready before she realized the movement she’d seen was her youngest.

“Merlin,” Molly breathed with a hand over her racing heart. “Ginny dear you gave me such a fright! What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” She turned away to light the lamps. “When did you get home? Are you hungry? How did things go with Harry? You were gone for two days, so obviously-” Molly’s seemingly endless prattling came to a sudden halt. Frowning, she turned back to Ginny. “I’m sorry dear. What was that?”

Lifting her head, Ginny presented her mother with a tear stained face.

Her pulse racing, worry flooded through Molly as did a surge of differing and contradictory emotions and thoughts. “Oh, Ginny,” she cried, “what happened?” Molly rushed to her daughter’s side and embraced the obviously distraught girl.

Ginny’s throat constricted around a sob and a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Mom,” Ginny sobbed as she threw herself into her mother‘s warm, comforting embrace.

 

* * *

 

**That Night - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

Harry sighed as Draco rained kisses, feather light, down his neck, pausing to nip lightly at his Adam’s apple.

“I forgot to tell you,” Draco told him between kisses. “I had tea with Mother this afternoon.”

Running his hands up and down Draco’s sweaty back that rippled with each movement, Harry titled his head to give his lover better access.

Of all the times to talk about his mother, Harry thought, rolling his eyes behind closed eyelids. Was Draco trying to ruin the mood? At the moment, Harry was not interested in hearing about anything that had nothing to with the raging hard-on he was sporting all thanks to a certain someone who’d felt the need to tease him under the table in the middle of one of the most popular wizarding restaurants in Britain. So, he just ignored his lover’s prattling and prayed the aristocratic git got the picture.

“She’s planning our wedding.”

That got Harry’s attention. His hands stilled their downward movement. They were a hairsbreadth from cupping the firm globes of Draco’s ass. His emerald eyes snapped open. “Excuse me?” he asked. He’d been going for stern, but his voice just a little too breathless.

Draco lifted his head, effectively putting a halt to the lavishing he’d been doing to Harry’s chest and stared down at his boyfriend. The upper half of his body was propped up off Harry in a mock pushup motion. “You heard me.”

“What exactly did she say?”

Draco told Harry about his--interesting, to say the least, conversation with his mother over tea earlier that afternoon.

Snorting, Harry shook his head. His lips twitched in amusement. “And it didn’t faze her that we only started dating two days ago?”

Though it had only been two days since they went from being partners to lovers, thus making it too soon to talk marriage, technically Draco has been courting Harry for the past year--as soon as he was free from Astoria in fact. This was made known to all of Wizarding Britain thanks to The Daily Prophet via Rita Skeeter who‘d received an “anonymous” tip. As expected, an enraged Ginevra Weasley had tried to shoot down those rumors immediately, which in turn caused many to believe that there was some truth to them; which of course, there had been. Harry, curiously enough, had remained silent on the matter, which of course had not gone over too well with any of the Weasleys. It’d suited Draco just fine, though.

“It did not seem to deter her.”

Laughing lightly, Harry said, “Must be a Pureblood thing.”

“What?”

“Being so brazen.”

Amused, Draco smirked.

“I mean, we’re not even engaged.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that a hint Potter?”

Harry shrugged, ignoring the heat fast encompassing his face. “Just saying.”

Draco snickered.

The laugh jolted through Harry’s body, leaving him breathless and panting and reviving his waning erection.

“Oh and be prepared. She plans to send us to a nudist colony for our honeymoon.”

Harry could not help it. He burst out laughing.

Draco narrowed his blue-grey eyes. “What,” he demanded. “You want to go to a nudist colony so every Tom, Dick and Mary Sue can see yo--my bits?”

“Your bits huh?”

“Damn right,” Draco snapped. To emphasize his point, he reached down between their bodies and cupped said bits.

Pleasure danced up Harry’s spine. It caused him to arch off the bed and into Draco’s touch. It ripped a passion filled cry from his lips. “Oh, God,” he moaned.

“Mine,” Draco growled.

“Yes,” Harry panted as Draco ran his thumb along the underside of his cock.

Draco barked, “Say it.”

“Yours.”

“Louder!”

“Yours!”

Draco pumped Harry’s erection in earnest, loving the way Harry clawed at the mattress beneath him; loved the utterances he spewed; loved him.

As Draco brought him closer to climax, all other thought was nonexistent and that was just the way both men liked it.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - The Burrow - Outside Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Turning onto her side, Ginny reached for her glass of water sitting on the bedside table. When her hand brushed against something else, she jerked her hand back. Propping herself up on her elbow, she grabbed her wand and cast a lumos. She aimed the light at her bedside table. It illuminated an envelope with her name printed on the front in familiar chicken scratch. It was Harry’s letter. The one she’d received from his Devil Bird at Michael’s place that morning.

She smiled at the memory of the man that helped save her from her plight.

As quickly as it appeared, the smile fell.

After spending the entire day with Michael, Ginny had been reluctant to return home for she knew what would happen the moment that happened. And it did. The barricades came crashing down and everything came flooding back.

She may have had to use a petrificus totalus to keep her mother from castrating Harry afterwards--for if anyone did that, it was going to be her--but Ginny had to admit that spending the evening talking to her mother about her troubles with Harry had lifted a huge weight from her shoulders. It felt as if someone had cast a featherweight charm on her.

She’d avoided speaking with her mother in the past for various reasons, almost as if there’d been some sort of geass stopping her, but she’d felt compelled to lay everything out to her mother this time and she was glad she had.

Going to Hermione rather than her mother in the past made her problems with Harry not that big a deal. There was no getting around it this time.

With her wand clutched in her hand, Ginny picked up the envelope and laid back down, holding the unopened letter out in front of her. Frowning, her forehead creased in thought as she wondered what Harry had to say for himself.

Was he asking for her forgiveness; begging her to take him back--to give him a second chance?

Her heart pounding, her palms slick with sweat, Ginny turned the envelope over with trembling hands and slid a finger under the flap. Then, she paused. Removing her finger, Ginny turned the envelope back over and stared at her name on the front of the envelope for long silent moments.

What if Harry was asking for her forgiveness? What if he did want to give it--them another go?

Her mind flashed back to the evidence of his betrayal, the used condoms she found in the trash, the clothing washed and nearly folded on the bed, and anger and sorrow swelled up within her.

With tears stinging her eyes and blurring her vision, her throat tight, her chest aching, she turned onto her side and shoved the still unopened letter into the top drawer of her beside table. Then, whispering, “Nox,” to extinguish the lumos, she hide her wand back under her pillow. Rolling over, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

She’d deal with Harry when she was confident she wouldn’t do something she’d later regret. The problem with that logic was that she wasn’t sure she’d ever regret whatever she ended up doing to Harry.

“Fuck you Harry James Potter,” she whispered harshly into the night. “I hope you and Malfoy rot in hell.”

 

* * *

 

**Midnight - Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Hermione had been asleep for four hours--she had another early deposition the next day concerning the illegal use of allure by a veela against a wizard--when she, still half-asleep, rolled over to cuddle against her husband’s side. Only, her husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Catching herself before she smashed her face into the mattress, Hermione blurrily glanced around the shadow-infested bedroom.

Completely awake now, she called out, “Ron?”

Nothing.

Sitting up, she tossed back the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Slipping her feet into her slippers, she stood up and shrugged into her robe as she shuffled her way out of the bedroom and through the house in search of her wayward husband. She found him out in the garden staring up at the night sky.

Saying nothing, Hermione crossed the yard silently and sat down on the white marble bench besides him. The bench had been a wedding present from Harry, she remembered. It was an odd thing to be remembering at that moment; or maybe not so odd given that Ron was most likely restless because of the very person who had gifted them the bench they sat upon.

“I hate Malfoy,” Ron commented suddenly in a nonchalant tone. It was almost matter of fact, said in the same tone of voice one would use to greet a stranger waiting at the same bus stop.

Hermione remained silent.

“He used to hate him too.”

The “he” Ron was referring to was most probably Harry, she realized. Still she said nothing.

“So I just--I don’t--I can’t--” Flustered and frustrated, Ron floundered, unable to put into words the betrayal he felt towards his best friend. Jumping to his feet, Ron scrubbed his hands over his face, making an irritated sound in his throat. The impediment was brief for he was soon shouting out angrily, “How can he choose him over my sister? How can he love that spoiled, pompous ass?”

As she was not knowledgeable about everything that had transpired between Harry, Ginny and Malfoy, Hermione felt she could not make an informed decision either way, but she trusted Harry. She worried incessantly about him. More often than not, she felt as if she should be policing his every action to keep him from killing himself as if she were his mother and not his friend, but in the end she did trust him. He did not always have the best judgment or make the greatest decisions, but Harry always did what he felt was right. If that meant breaking a law or two, so be it. It appeared as if he had not changed in that regard.

It was a bitter pill to swallow given their history with the entire Malfoy family, but if being with Draco Malfoy was what made Harry happy, then for Harry’s sake, she was willing to at least pretend to act civil. Of course, this was contingent upon Malfoy not being the same Malfoy she knew from their Hogwarts days, but if the man she’d seen at Bean Sidhe café in Bannum was any indication, it was prudent to say that was not the case. Malfoy may just be the best thing that ever happened to her friend. It was too bad Ron just couldn’t see that.

Ron’s dislike of the Malfoys was ingrained. Changing that was not going to be easy nor was it going to happen overnight, not even for the sake of his best friend.

“Does it matter?” Hermione found herself asking into the night, even though she knew the answer.

Appalled at the question and the matter of fact way she said it, Ron glared down at her. “Of course it does! It’s Malfoy!”

Her face blank, Hermione simply stared up at her husband without saying anything. This stubbornness of his was going to end up costing Ron his friendship with Harry.

Eventually, Ron turned his face--that was flushed with anger and confusion and a little hurt--away.

Hermione‘s expression softened into one of understanding. “What about Harry? You may not like Malfoy, but Harry is your best friend-”

“And Ginny’s my sister,” Ron shot back, spinning back around to face her. With a curse, Ron spun around and raked his fingers through his hair.

For once, Hermione was at a loss.

“He…”

Standing up, Hermione approached her husband. She longed to reach out to him to comfort him--to tell him she understood; that everything would work itself out in the end, but she didn’t--couldn’t.

“He said he was happy.”

“Then isn’t that all that matters?”

Ron shook his head; not in denial, Hermione knew. “How…? How can he be--happy with--with…?”

“He’s in love Ron,” Hermione said as if that was answer enough and to most it would be.

“What about Ginny?” Ron retorted, turning around towards her.

Hermione was silent for several long moments as she searched her husband‘s face--for what, she was unsure. But then she found it. “What’s this really about? Ginny or Malfoy?”

Spinning away with a curse, Ron raked his fingers once again through his ginger locks.

“I understand as Ginny’s older brother, you feel it’s your duty to look out for her--protect her, but things between her and Harry have nothing to do with you. There are just some things you are just not going to have control over.” It was something she learned the hard. “Whatever happened between her and Harry happened. There’s no changing it. This isn’t a muggle videogame where you can just press reset. It’s done. It’s over.”

“But Malfoy-!”

“-is dating Harry, your best friend, now. Harry said he was in love with Malfoy, didn’t he? That he was happy?” At the nod, she continued, “Then that’s all that matters. It’s time to leave the past in the past and move on. If you cannot find it within yourself to give Malfoy a second chance for Harry‘s sake…Well.” Hermione stood watching the back of her husband’s head, willing him to say something; anything. She heaved a heavy, tired sigh. Then shaking her head, turned and started back towards the house. She paused with her hand on the door and a foot in the kitchen. “It makes me wonder, though, which is more important: a grudge or your best friend.” With that, Hermione vanished into the house.

Standing in the middle of the back garden, Ron tipped his head back and stared up at the sea of stars that twinkled and pulsated in the heavens above.

What kind of friend was he that he couldn’t at least pretend to be happy for Harry?

 

**…To Be Continued…**

 


	4. Plus

**Advice 2: Wheel of Fortune**  
 **Four-Shot**  
 **Sequel to:** Advice  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** While a rift forms between the Golden Trio, and Harry and Ginny start having premarital problems, Harry and Draco are growing closer. When a Ministry official is assassinated and the prime suspect turns out to be Draco, just how close these ex-rivals have become is revealed.  
 **Warning:** AU, infidelity, romance, drama, slash, OC character death, bashing, possible OOCness, OCs, preg, m-preg, sexual situations, Mary Sues and Brit Picks need not apply.  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron. Mentioned: past Draco/Astoria, Astoria/OMC, Harry/Ginny, Ginny/Michael Corner  
 **Inserts:** recap from chapter 3  
 **A/N:** Please enjoy the final chapter of Advice!

 

* * *

 

**Last Time**

“He said he was happy.”

“Then isn’t that all that matters?”

Ron shook his head; not in denial, Hermione knew. “How…? How can he be--happy with--with…?”

“He’s in love Ron,” Hermione said as if that was answer enough and to most it would be.

“What about Ginny?” Ron retorted, turning around towards her.

Hermione was silent for several long moments as she searched her husband‘s face--for what, she was unsure. But then she found it. “What’s this really about? Ginny or Malfoy?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter IV: Plus**

**A Week Later - Afternoon -- Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

Draco was frowning as he scanned over the statement the young mother Jacqueline Mathers had given Aurors just that morning. “I don’t get it,” he said. He glanced up at Harry who was sitting in the chair behind his desk wearing his own frown. “She’s now claiming her daughter’s death was an accident?”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “According to her new statement, she went into the house for what she claims to be no more than a second and when she returned, her daughter was floating face down in the swimming pool.”

Draco flipped through the file to the coroner’s report. “ME cannot confirm her statement as the daughter’s body was too decomposed when it was found. I had the same problem myself.” He’d worked the toxicology examination.

“We do have an approximate time of death though.”

An eyebrow cocked, Draco flipped back through the coroner’s report and smirked at what he found. “The day Mathers reported her daughter missing.”

Harry returned the smirk with one of his own.

Picking up the file, Draco settled himself down in the visitor’s chair. With his ankle resting on the opposite knee and the file lying open in his lap, he gazed across the desk at Harry. “An accidental drowning huh?”

“It happens,” Harry shrugged. “There were two last summer.”

One of those was seven-year-old Marianna Craig who fell into the pool after her ball. She became trapped under the pool cover. By the time the babysitter discovered she was missing, Marianna was already dead. Her parents subsequently fought for, and won, a new law requiring any wizarding establishment with a pool, private or public, to have specially designed protections up around the entire pool area, including the pool itself, at all times. This is supposed to keep unsupervised children from falling in and drowning and if they do, an alarm is supposed to sound.

Draco glanced down at the mother’s statement. “Other than her inconsistencies in her statements, what evidence is there to link her to her daughter‘s death?”

“Nada.”

“Lovely,” Draco exhaled, slumping back in the chair.

Harry sighed. “All we knew before this morning was that Jessica-” the daughter, “-was reported as missing. Almost a year later, she was found along the side of the road in a section of the woods that had been combed through several times not far from the Mathers’ house.”

“That means the body was planted after the search was called off.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed with a nod. “And by that time, the body was too decomposed to tell us much of anything.”

Closing the file, Draco tossed it on Harry’s desk with a disgusted sigh. “The mother originally reported her daughter as missing correct?”

“Yes. Mathers claimed she left her daughter playing out in the backyard when she went inside to make them lunch.”

“No house-elves? Husband? Wife?”

“Just the two of them,” Harry clarified. “When Mathers came back outside a minute or two later, her daughter was gone; or so she claimed at the time.”

Draco shook his head. His head hurt. “And she left her two year old daughter alone and unsupervised for that long why?”

“The yard’s gated; has wards and all sorts of protections around it, which I confirmed myself. She felt her daughter was safe. And her daughter should have been if those same protections were in place before her daughter went ‘missing’ and if nobody but her parents were keyed into them.”

“Obviously not,” Draco muttered. “And now she’s changing her story, saying her daughter didn’t go missing, but drowned in the backyard pool?”

“Exactly.”

“How the hell did her daughter get into the pool in the first place? Was she already in it when the mother went inside? Was the ladder down? I mean, the mother claims to have all these protections around the backyard, but what about the pool? Were there any?”

Harry flipped through the file to the mother’s statement. “The mother stated that she does have the necessary wards, but that particular day, they never went off.”

“You don‘t believe that do you?”

Harry snorted, “Of course not. We tested them ourselves and they worked perfectly fine. In fact, they were so finely tuned there’s no way she couldn’t have sensed the wards trip. A flea would have tripped them. If Jessica went anywhere near that pool, Mathers would have known unless she momentarily became a squib.”

“So,” Draco drawled as he tried to work out everything in his head, “assuming her daughter’s death was an accident, either she ignored the alarms that had to have gone off or she didn’t have any alarms at the time, correct?”

“Right.”

“Okay, so maybe the daughter wanted to go swimming. The mother refused, said after lunch, or whatever.” Draco dismissed the inconsequential details with a wave of his hand. “She goes inside to do whatever it was she just had to do, but the daughter wants to go swimming now and with a little help of accidental magic, she winds up in the pool.”

Harry nodded. A case of accidental magic could do astounding things. It’d apparated him on the roof of the school once and blew his uncle’s sister into a Marge balloon. Therefore, he could see the daughter’s desire to go swimming linking with her magic and apparating her to the pool.

“But that does not explain how she appeared in the woods almost a year later,” Draco continued. “Where was the daughter’s body for the year she was missing? And why would Mathers lie to Aurors?”

“Mathers claimed she panicked.”

“Panicked,” Draco in a flat voice. “Your daughter drowns and instead of calling Aurors, you take her out of the pool, dry her off, dress her, stuff her in a garbage bag or something and hide her somehow, somewhere, and then call Aurors claiming she’s been kidnapped. A year later, you dump her along the side of the road like a piece of trash.”

Harry nodded. “That’s the gist of it.”

“Unbelievable. She‘d obviously guilty as sin.”

“Of murder?” Harry shrugged. “We can’t prove it, but of lying to Aurors, making a false statement, concealing knowledge of the little girl’s death, concealing the body, illegal dumping, not having adequate protections up around the pool…Oh, yes. Just on the charges the Prosecuting Wizard plans to press, the mother will be going to jail for a very long time.”

“Good.”

Closing the file, Harry set it aside and pulled out another one that had become buried under all the paperwork polluting his desk; he really had to do some organizing. Opening the file, he turned it around and set it on the edge of the desk closest to Draco. “This next case was given to us from Fire Scene.”

Draco leaned forward to pluck the file from Harry’s desk with a cocked eyebrow. “That they’re involving you means the fire was set intentionally and someone died as a result.”

“Sort of,” Harry answered cryptically.

Draco studied Harry’s blank face for several moments longer before turning to the file in his hands. As he scanned the incident report, an incredulous feeling rolled through him. “They were tearing down a house near Wizarding Hertford and discovered a body in the wall?”

Harry nodded. “The Fire Scene Investigators are speculating that the fire that destroyed the house originated in the potions lab. Nobody was home at the time of the fire, but neighbors claim a bunch of ‘shady’ men and women coming and going at all hours of the night and day for over a year-”

“’Shady’?”

“Obvious glamours, features obscured by unnatural shadows or blurred out, hunched over,” Harry explained, “always looking over their shoulders, all doing the same staccato knock.”

Frowning in thought, Draco hummed and returned to scanning the reports.

“-but that the afternoon before the fire broke out, there was nothing, no sound, no movement, no people coming and going, absolutely nothing.”

“They’re thinking it was intentionally set?”

“Yes.”

“And where does this body come in?”

“Not sure yet. It’s still with the ME.”

Something hastily scribbled in at the bottom of the last sheet caught Draco’s attention. He grew excited as he read it. “Did you see this?”

“What?”

“Here.” Standing, Draco circled the desk to Harry’s side. Setting the file down on the desk before Harry, he pointed to what had caught his attention

When Draco went to step aside in order to give Harry room to read, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, thus entrapping his boyfriend at his side.

Draco gazed down at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at his lips.

Hooking his thumb in the belt loop of Draco’s Muggle jeans that had cost over two-hundred pounds, Harry gripped Draco’s hip possessively as he leaned forward to read what had gotten Draco so excited.

A smirking Draco, meanwhile, draped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. His fingers played with Harry’s hair and massaged his scalp. When he felt Harry shudder against him and heard the appreciative moan, he chuckled silently.

Harry was trying his best to read the crime scene report, but it was not an easy task. Draco’s proximity alone was driving him out of his mind and that wasn’t taking into consideration the new cologne Draco started wearing. Draco knew the outrageously expensive stuff--sixty galleons for a two-ounce bottle--drove him practically out of his mind. Then of course, knowing Draco, that was probably why he wore it.

Then he found it. “They found significant amounts of the fertility potion in the potions lab including what they believe to have been a stash of the banned substance!” Harry swore.

With a smirk, Draco nodded. “This very well could be the break we were looking for.”

Tapping a thumbnail on the page, Harry stared off across the room. He gnawed on his bottom lip as his excite dwindled. “It could be nothing.” It was best not to get their hopes up just yet. “But we need to talk to this Denis Lomond anyway.” Lomond was the lead investigator who found what could very well be a significant break in the Black Market case he and Draco have been working on for a year now. “And I have to update Moore on this. He’ll need it for his investigation.”

“How is his investigation going, by the way? I haven‘t heard anything.”

“Me either.” Harry shrugged. “Moore said he wanted to keep the whole thing quiet for now.” Didn’t want to spook any suspects, or potential suspects, into fleeing the country.

Draco nodded. “I offered him my services,” he admitted, “when he called me to his office last week.”

Harry wasn’t surprised. After all, Sting--who’d been Draco’s runner before he’d become Harry’s informant--had been murdered when he become caught in the middle of this Black Market investigation.

“He thanked me for the offer but turned me down; said he wanted us to concentrate on our end of things, like this fire,” Draco continued. “If it was deliberately set in order to cover Wilhelm’s death and possibly destroy any trace of the house being the hub of the Black Market Fertility Potion ring…”

Harry started to nod his head, agreeing to what Draco was saying, but then something Draco said gave him pause. “Wait. What? Wilhelm? You’re thinking the body they found is that of the missing Potions Master?”

“Preliminary reports from the ME state the person died at least a year ago,” Draco reminded him.

Harry was nodding in earnest now. “It would explain why we were never able to find any trace of Potions Master Wilhelm. He went to them, or they came to him, either way they went into business together, but somewhere along the line, Wilhelm became a liability and they got rid of him.”

Draco hummed in thought.

Letting his arm drop from Draco‘s waist, Harry pushed the chair back and stood up. “I think-Enter,” he called out at the sudden knock on the closed office door.

The door creaked open and Ross Rosenstein popped his head in. “Sorry to bother you sir, but there’s a woman here to see you.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in thought. The first woman who came to mind was Hermione, but he’d talked to her the night before. Apparently, she has been feeling a little under the weather lately and would be staying home from work that day. Then he thought it could possibly be Ginny, but he hasn’t seen or spoken to his ex-fiancée since the day he walked in on her moving into his house without his permission. She hadn’t even responded to his letter. If it wasn’t Hermione and it wasn’t Ginny, he had no idea who it could be.

“And just who is this woman?” Draco demanded. With his hands on his hips, he glared at Rosenstein.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Down boy,” he muttered to his boyfriend.

Snapping his head around, Draco narrowed his gaze at Harry.

Ignoring him, Harry cocked an eyebrow at Rosenstein who was looking decidedly nervous between his boss and his boss’ lover. “Who is it Rosenstein?”

“Uh…” Rosenstein gulped. “Actually, sir, she, uhm, kinda looks like Bellatrix Lestrange only, uhm…”

Harry‘s eyes lit up. He exchanged a knowing glance with Draco. “Sane?” he suggested.

Rosenstein flushed. “I was going to say ‘alive’, sir, but that works too.”

Draco chuckled despite himself.

“Alright. Send her in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any idea what Aunt Andromeda is doing here?” Draco asked as soon as Rosenstein vanished, closing the door behind him.

“None. Haven‘t spoken to her since we babysat Teddy a week ago.”

His office door burst open just then followed almost immediately by a screaming, “Harry!”

Harry turned and grinned at the sight of his godson. “Hey!” He crouched down with his arms open as the five-year old launched himself at him. The boy’s short curly brown hair and amber eyes morphed mid-flight to match Harry’s black locks and emerald green orbs.

Standing up, Harry spun around, causing Teddy to giggle and cry out, “Do it again” each time Harry stopped.

“No again. Harry is very dizzy.” To prove his point, Harry stumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

A soft chuckle drew their attention. Standing in the doorway watching them was Andromeda.

Hefting his godson onto his hip, Harry strode forward and greeted the older woman with a kiss. “Hey, Andy.”

“Afternoon Harry, Draco.”

“Aunt Andromeda,” Draco greeted with a bow of his head. “You are looking wonderful this afternoon.”

“You are so much like your father Draco,” Andromeda commented. “Such a flatterer.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“In that case, thank you.”

Harry rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Purebloods,” in his godson’s ear. Teddy giggled even though Harry was sure the five year old had no idea what Harry was talking about.

With a mock glare, Andromeda swatted Harry.

Chuckling, Harry asked, “So what’s up?”

“Actually…” Suddenly nervous, Andromeda glanced from her grandson to her nephew. “Draco, do you think you could take Teddy, show him around while I speak to Harry?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Draco exchanged a confused and worried glance with Harry before nodding his head towards his aunt. “Of course. Come, Theodore. I can show you where your mother used to work.”

“Okay!” Jumping down out of Harry’s arms, Teddy rushed to Draco’s side and grabbing his hand, grinned up at his older cousin.

As Harry watched the two of them, he was unaware of the goofy grin or the wistful expression on his face.

Fighting a smile of his own as he watched the boy, Draco led the boy out of the office.

Once the door closed behind them, Harry turned towards Andromeda, but before he could even open his mouth, she blurted out two words that left him blinking. “I’m sorry?”

Taking a deep breath, Andromeda turned tear-filled eyes away from the view of her nephew showing her grandson off to the other Aurors to the man before her. “I’m dying,” she repeated, “and,” she continued, raising her voice over Harry’s protestations, “I want you and Draco to adopt Teddy.”

To say Harry was blindsided would be an understatement. “Y-you’re…d-What?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Ron had wanted to stay at home to take care of her, but Hermione had practically thrown him out of the house. Due to the uneasiness between him and Harry, Ron has been doing a lot of moping around the house and it was wearing on her last nerve.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand, because she did. Ron was figuratively caught between a rock and a hard place. With the discord between Harry, his best friend, and Ginny, his sister, Ron wasn’t sure which way to turn.

It wasn’t easy being caught in the middle, especially when you put yourself there.

The real problem, though, wasn’t Harry and Ginny’s break up, though that had been hard for him. It was Draco Malfoy. Granted, if it had been anybody else Harry had cheated on Ron’s little sister with, Ron would still have been livid at Harry‘s questionable behavior. He still would have been torn between being loyal to family and being loyal to his best mate who was like a brother to him, but because it was Draco Malfoy, Ron remained uncertain, unsure, and just a little angry and disgusted.

Hermione herself was staying out of it. Completely.

As for her husband, just as he’s been doing all week, if he would have stayed home from work in order to “take care of her”, he’d wind up forgetting what he was doing halfway through and she’d find him staring into space. The other day he’d flooded the bathroom when he left the water running in the sink when he went on one of his trips.

She wasn’t sure whether to be more worried or angry at his behavior. Part of her wanted to summon a Mind-Healer. The other half wanted to hex him into next week.

Either way, she was tired of him being underfoot, which was part of the reason why she hadn’t wanted Ron at home that day.

While at first she’d brushed her queasiness off the past week or two as nerves and the stress of both work and having to deal with the emotional turmoil between Harry, Malfoy, Ron and Ginny, she couldn’t ignore it in tandem with her late monthly. Her menstrual cycle had never been late before. Again, it could just be stress. She’d read somewhere that stress could affect one’s monthly cycle. But there’d been this little nagging voice in the back of her mind.

So here Hermione sat on the toilet in the upstairs bathroom with a small vial the size of her pinkie filled with blue liquid. Had she used a drop or two of her blood, the original colorless hue of the potion within the vial would have turned green, but because she’d used urine, the hue had become what the booklet described as “a true pure blue color”. Both indicated a positive result. If you got any other color then something obviously went wrong. Had the results been negative, the color of the liquid would have remained the same clear, colorless color. But it hadn’t so it wasn’t.

“Positive.”

It was a good thing she was sitting because she would have fallen over. As it was, her vision started to go dark. Hermione doubled over to hang her head between her knees. “Oh, Merlin,” she chanted with her eyes shut and her hands fisted at her temples.

When she and Ron had become engaged, they’d talked about having kids and while both wanted a family, neither wanted to start one right away. Each believed it would be more prudent to wait until they were in a comfortable position in their careers and had some money saved up before they even started to think about starting a family.

And that’s exactly what they did. They had amassed quite a bit of savings over the five years they‘ve been together. Ron was in for a promotion at work. She had become Barrister Armand’s top and most trusted solicitor. Life at the moment was good.

There was one problem though.

Lifting her head, Hermione stared down at the vial of blue liquid and smiled through the sting of tears.

She and Ron currently lived in what had been originally a single story house. When they moved in, they’d added a small second floor that was more a loft that consisted of their bedroom and a bathroom. Even with the added space, they just did not have the room for themselves let alone a third person.

Sitting up, she laid the hand not holding the pregnancy test on her flat belly and started laughing until tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Baby. We are going to have a baby.”

But that was okay. Somehow, someway, they would find a way to make this work.

 

* * *

 

 

**Half an Hour Later - Auror Department - Ministry of Magic - London, England**

Ron was exhausted. His entire body ached from the hour-long standoff in Otterburn and subsequent duel with some young punk. The morning started with said punk, who was no more than a boy really--sixteen if he was a day--breaking into a newlywed couple’s house. He’d intended to steal some paintings, pieces of pottery, jewelry and several tapestries; all of which were priceless and had been in the husband‘s family for generations. The morning ended with the punk a murderer when he flung cutting hexes at the husband who’d surprised him by returning home early from work.

How the punk was able to get through what should have been foolproof wards was still unknown.

All Ron wanted was to go home and fall face first into bed. Of course, he couldn’t do that. He had a report to write up and a suspect to interrogate before he could leave.

“Hey Draco?

Ron stopped cold in the threshold between the bullpen and the Homicide Division’s break room at the sight before him. Teddy Lupin, Remus and Tonks’ only child, sat at one of the tables with one Draco Malfoy. He was not sure what it was about the sight that surprised him the most: that Draco would want anything to do with the boy, that Teddy and Draco appeared to be acting civil towards one another or that Draco Malfoy was sipping what appeared to be Muggle soda pop and munching on pretzels.

Because his head was beginning to hurt, Ron decided to ignore the whole scene as best he could. It was something he was becoming an expert at doing: ignoring Draco Malfoy’s presence.

“Hey what?” he heard Draco say before the man popped a pretzel into his mouth.

“Are you and Harry gonna have a baby?”

Spluttering, his face redder than his hair, Ron tripped. He caught himself on the icebox.

Across the room, Draco was choking on his pretzel. Grabbing his soda can, he took a long swallow. His eyes watering, he turned towards the boy. “I’m sorry?” he coughed.

“Aunt Narcissa came over for tea yesterday and she and Grandma were talking about what color they were going to paint the nursery and that Harry would make a good mommy.”

Mortified, Draco mentally cursed his mother.

This past weekend, he and Harry went to have dinner with his parents. During dinner, Draco told his parents that he was thinking about petitioning the Wizengamot, or whomever it was he had to speak to, about studying and possibly perfecting--if it was possible--the fertility potion created by Potions Master Wilhelm. How his mother had derived grandchildren out of that, he was not sure. But that was the thing with mothers. They heard what they wanted to hear.

“Is Harry going to have a baby Draco?” Teddy asked. Those bright emerald eyes of his were wide and projecting naivety and innocence.

Before Draco could deny the rumor--though at this point, he figured it was pointless as the more you deny something the more people believe its validity--there was a loud thud.

Both he and Teddy turned in their seats and there lying sprawled out on the floor in front of the icebox was Ronald Weasley.

“Why’s he on the floor?” Teddy asked.

Draco snorted; uncouth he knew, but he could not help himself as so many different replies went through his head. Most of which Harry would frown upon so he had to be careful. He knew that whatever he told Teddy could come back to bit him on the ass. “He’s a Weasley. Who knows why they do what they do,” he decided upon then said, “And no, Harry is not going to have a baby.”

“Aw,” Teddy whined with a pout, slumping down in his chair.

“As far as I know,” Draco just to add. He chuckled when young Teddy‘s face radiated with pleasure and happiness. “Finish your soda. Then we can go ask Harry.”

“Yeah!”

Draco snickered. This will probably get him kicked to the sofa that night, but it was going to be worth it to see the look on Harry’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Wiley Willie’s Pub & Inn - London, England**

It was another Muggle establishment.

Ginny wondered if it was beginning to irk Michael that they hadn’t shown themselves to the magical community as of yet. Michael continued to claim he was willing to wait as long as possible, but even he had to have a limit.

Neither she nor Harry had made an announcement--official or otherwise--proclaiming the end of their five-year long relationship, but somehow it made the front page of every newspaper and magazine--reputable or not--anyway. Maybe it was the missing engagement ring on her finger; or that she and Harry were never seen together in public anymore; or the fact that Harry and Draco were caught snogging in the middle of Diagon Alley last week when they took little Teddy Lupin to get ice cream.

The fallout had been mixed as she had expected.

Her colleagues at The Daily Prophet have been trying to get a statement from her other than “no comment” ever since.

It was a lie of course. She was greatly affected by the continuous updates of The Savior Who Took Up With The Death Eater. Her whole family was in fact.

It was supposed to be her at Harry’s side, kissing him, holding his hand, gazing at him like a love struck schoolgirl from across the store. It was supposed to be her caught coming and going from Harry’s house. It was not supposed to be Malfoy.

Unfortunately, it was him.

Part of her wanted to give her colleagues what they wanted. She wanted nothing more than to blast Harry for being the lying, cheating, two-timing piece of shit he was. She wanted to tear him a new one. She wanted to rant, rave, and throw a hissy fit as if she were five years old. She wanted to confront him in the middle of Diagon Alley and demand he tell her how he could dump her for a Death Eater.

She had chosen, though, to put on a brave face instead of belittling her ex for the asshole he was to the entire Wizarding World. To quote a Muggle author, she had decided to take the road not taken--or was that the high road? Either way, she had decided not to let Harry know how much his betrayal had hurt her. She was not going to give him the satisfaction.

Ginny turned towards Michael as they waited their turn to be seated and smiled. Reaching out, she brushed a hand through his windblown hair.

He turned towards her, smiled, and asked, “How you doing?”

Her smile morphed into a grin. “I’m okay.” And she was. It had only been a week since her life had been flipped upside down, but she really was all right and it was all thanks to this man besides her.

“Good.” Draping an arm around her shoulders, Michael hugged her gently to his side.

 

* * *

 

 

**That Night - Weasley Residence - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

With her arms wrapped around her knees that were drawn to her chest, Hermione sat on the bed watching her husband standing before the window, gazing out at the night.

She called out to him. “Ron.” Getting no response, she tried again. “Ron, please come to bed,” she pled. The only answer she received was from the crickets.

She hadn’t wanted to say anything until she’d confirmed it with her Healer first, but it was time her husband realized there was more to life than fretting over his friend’s love life--like his pregnant wife for example. As she continued to gaze at her husband’s broad back, she started to feel nervous. After all, she wasn’t sure how Ron would take the news. Yes, they’d talked about it, but that and this were two completely different things.

Gathering her Gryffindor courage, Hermione took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m pregnant.” She hadn’t been sure what type of reaction to expect: joy, shock, disbelief, denial. Heck, she’d even take anger, anything but this stoicism. Ron acted as if he didn’t even hear her.

With a sneer that would have made Draco Malfoy proud, Hermione turned her back on her husband and slid back into bed.

Well, it was nice to know who was more important.

As if rousing from a deep trance, Ron blinked and glanced about the darkened bedroom. He frowned at the sight of his wife asleep in bed. He could have sworn…

“’Mione?” he called softly. Receiving no reply, Ron shrugged and carefully slid into bed besides Hermione. It took him awhile to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Corner Residence - Northumberland, England**

No regrets, Ginny thought as she lay besides Michael later that night. There’d been surprise when Michael kissed her, but there’d been no hesitation when she’d kissed him back or second thoughts as they made love. Even now, there was no shame or pangs of guilt from her conscience as she’d expected to feel. There was nothing but a warm feeling of bliss and contentment.

Her parents, especially her mother, as well as Ron may still be in mourning over the death of her relationship with Harry, but Ginny felt that maybe she was ready to put her past behind her and find out what her future had in store for her.

Like earlier at the restaurant, Ginny brushed a hand through Michael’s soft brown locks. She smiled when he mumbled something she couldn’t make out and turned onto his side. Yawning, she scooted across the space between them and spooned him from behind. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she laid her head on his pillow and let her eyes drift shut. She fell asleep almost immediately with a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

“Hey,” Draco called softly. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s going on? You’re not breaking up with me are you?” Though it’d come out light, it left a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even he could tell his smile was frayed around the edges.

From his position at the bedroom window where he had been staring out over the backyard that was in full bloom--thanks to Neville--for the past several minutes, Harry scoffed at the notion that he would ever allow what has turned out to be best thing in his life to slip through his fingers. “As much as many would love for me to kick your git-for-brains behind to the curb-”

“Oi!”

Harry snickered. “-I have no intention of watching said behind walk out of my life-” Turning to face his boyfriend, he continued, “-not now. Not ever.”

“Well that’s good,” Draco said with his signature smirk as he slid around to the edge of the bed. “’Cause otherwise I would have been forced to make your life a living hell.”

Harry laughed.

“Seriously Harry,” Draco continued with a concerned expression on his face, “what is going on?”

Sighing, Harry leaned back against the windowsill and turned his head to gaze out at his neighbor’s backyard. Other than the Japanese maple tree that Mrs. Tyltan planted the previous spring, she was growing some sort of purple tomato as well as had several rose bushes. It was simple but effective. He’d tried that route, but failed miserably. His yard had just looked sad. Thank the Fates for Neville and his green thumb.

“Harry?”

Settling himself on the narrow window ledge, Harry stared down at his bare feet, absently noting that he needed to cut his toenails. “What would you think about Teddy moving in with us?”

Taken back, Draco merely blinked at the other man for several long silent moments. “I--don’t know,” he answered truthfully. Talk about being thrown for a loop. Where had that come from? “Why would-? Wait,” he cut himself off. “‘Us’?”

Lifting his head, Harry gave his boyfriend a look that said clearly without words that this was something Draco should already know. So much for being valedictorian, he thought. “This is just as much your house as it is mine, Dray.”

Blushing hotly at the ridiculous nickname he loved hearing Harry utter, Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that he had been granted something Harry’s ex had not: a home with Harry.

“You‘re here more often then you are at your own place. Hell,” Harry added, “you’re here more than I am. And don’t get me started on that damnedable demon bird of yours. He still laughs at me every time I step into the owlery.”

Draco snickered.

“It’s not funny,” Harry pouted, though his lips twitched.

“If you say so, love.”

Harry blushed at the endearment.

Suddenly serious again, Draco eyed Harry. “Are you okay with that?”

Harry cocked his head. “With what?”

“With me being here.”

Taken back, Harry blinked at the other man in stunned silence. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Draco gave Harry a chiding look. “Lover, given your history, can you really blame me for being wary when it comes to us living together?”

Blushing, Harry stood up and sat himself in Draco’s lap. There was part of him that felt ridiculous, but he sent an Avada Kedarva its way and it fell blissfully silent. Smirking at the incredulous look his lover was sending him, he wound his arms loosely around Draco’s neck. Getting lost within those gorgeous blue-gray eyes, he told Draco, “With Ginny…” He looked away to gather his thoughts. “I loved her, but she became an obligation and I found myself making up excuses not to spend time with her or to keep our relationship from going to the next level. But you…” Harry swung his gaze back to Draco’s. Running his fingers through the soft blond locks, he admitted, “It feels natural--right. I’d rather you be by my side than anyone else. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Draco returned. He would never admit it, but his heart grew three sizes in that moment.

The kiss that followed was a chaste press of lips that lasted mere seconds, but it said more than any amount of words ever could.

Resting his forehead against Draco’s, Harry said, “So? What do you think? About Teddy moving in?”

Carding his fingers through Harry’s raven locks, Draco said, “Well, he’s a great kid and he absolutely adores you.”

Harry‘s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Draco turned solemn. “But tell me: what is going on? Why do you want to know if I like the idea of your godson moving in? Why would he?”

Sighing, Harry said, “Andy’s sick.”

Draco merely blinked at the man. “Excuse me?”

“She’s dying Dray. Her Healers are doing all they can, but--they aren’t optimistic. She may not live out the year.”

Draco felt as if he had just had the floor Vanished from under him. “Wh-? I…” He could not even get his brain to work right.

“She wants--As his godfather, I--retain guardianship over Teddy should anything befall her and she--She doesn’t want him to see her like--like that and-”

“Okay,” Draco said softly. He still hadn’t wrapped his head around the idea that the aunt he just discovered was going to be taken away from him so soon. “Yeah. I mean--It‘s a lot to take in.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

Draco cursed silently. “Does Theodore know?”

Harry shook his head. “Andy was going to tell him tonight.”

Draco winced.

“Are you sure about this? About having Teddy move in?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I said as much didn’t I?”

Chuckling, Harry kissed him. “Love you.”

“You better.”

“Git.”

“Prat.”

“Wanker.”

“Prick.”

“…Sarsaparilla head.”

His lips twitching, Draco cocked an eyebrow.

Harry blushed at the weak comeback.

Shaking his head in amusement, Draco asked, “What am I going to do with you Harry James Potter?”

A sly smile slowly built across Harry’s lips. “I can think of quite a few things actually.”

Desire flashed like lightning through Draco. Not needing to be told twice, he flipped them over and began to ravish his boyfriend long into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

**Three Months Later - Afternoon - The Burrow - Outside Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Things were only just starting to settle down. That was not to say that everything had gone back to normal because they hadn’t, but they were as close to normal as they could get considering. The subject of a certain Savior was still taboo though, especially around her mother and youngest big brother; unless Ron mentioned him in reference to work or he and their mother were trying to get her to realize what a huge mistake breaking up with him had been.

Currently, Ginny was hiding out in her bedroom.

She’d made the mistake of telling her nag of a mother and youngest big brother that there was no way she would ever be getting back together with Harry because she was seeing someone else. They’d been hounding her ever since.

For something to do, Ginny had taken to straightening out her pigsty of a bedroom. It was a good thing too because she’d discovered an antique cameo necklace she’d inherited from a late aunt was missing.

She reached into her nightstand drawer. While the necklace was not there, something else was. It was unread post. Her name was scrawled on the front of the envelope. Frowning in confusion, she turned the envelope over and saw the familiar coat of arms stamped in the wax. That’s when she remembered. It was the letter Harry sent her months ago. She’d forgotten all about it.

Sitting down on her bed, she wiggled her finger under the flap and tore the top open. She pulled out a single sheet of parchment that had been tri-folded. Unfolding it, she cleared her throat and began reading.

_Ginny-_

_You probably won’t read this. I know you won’t. You’ll incinerate this letter the second you realize who it’s from and who could blame you? Were our positions reversed, that’s what I would do. But, if by some chance, you do read this, you’ll probably expect a bunch of excuses to justify my actions or groveling on bended knee for your forgiveness and you’re probably going to be a little angry when you realize that is not the intention of this letter. It would be a waste of both of our time;-_

“So what?” Ginny bit angrily. “It still would have been nice to ignore a groveling Harry Potter begging for my forgiveness. I think that’s the least you could do Asshole.”

_-for nothing I say or do will make up for how I needlessly hurt you. For that, I will apologize._

Tears stung Ginny’s eyes. “Guess that’s as close to an admission as I’m going to get,” she muttered with an angry sorrow building within her.

_That was never my intention. You deserve so much better._

“Got that right buddy,” she muttered.

_I knew we were having troubles; that my feelings were changing, and I was a coward to not talk to you about them. No matter what happens between us, I will always love you. If nothing more, I would like us to be friends. Can we meet? I think it’s time we talk._

_Love, Harry_

Ginny turned to gaze out the window.

Harry was right. They had been having troubles for some time before The Incident, but she’d tried her best to ignore them. Pretend the pink polka dot manticore is not wandering through the potions lab and maybe it’ll just go away. Both she and Harry were spot-on in regards to that, but what differentiated the two of them was that she hadn’t been the one to have an affair.

“But maybe…”

 

* * *

 

 

**The Next Day - Morning - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

In a tight deep purple T-shirt--a present from Draco--tucked into a pair of fitted black jeans, Harry was running a comb through his damp raven locks, which had finally been cut, when he felt the wards trip.

That day’s post had arrived.

As he’d learned his lesson three months ago, Harry made sure he had shoes on and had his wand as he made his way up the owlery, noticing how quiet the house was along the way.

It was eerie how silent it was. He could not remember the last time the place had seemed so empty and foreboding. Draco was at the Malfoy Townhouse in London overseeing the contingent of house-elves--commandeered from the Malfoy château in France where his parents were currently residing--pack and move his belongings here. And Teddy had stayed at Andromeda’s this weekend. Harry would be apparating over there in a few minutes to bring him home.

As for Andromeda, her condition was slowly deteriorating. Whatever sliver of hope may have been present three months ago was gone. The army of Healers Harry, Draco and Narcissa insisted on hiring may bicker over every little detail of her mysterious illness, but they agreed on one fact: she would not live through the year’s end. When she refused to burden him and Draco with taking care of her on top of a rambunctious five year old, Narcissa had invited her to stay with her. Once again, Andromeda tried to protest, but apparently, the invite hadn’t been voluntary. Her move was scheduled for next weekend.

Teddy knew his grandmother was sick, but he didn’t know how serious it was. Harry dreaded that conversation. Teddy absolutely loved his grandmother.

Harry gazed briefly around his office as he passed through on his way to the owlery. Two separate murder boards had been erected over the last couple of weeks. One was the murder of the maid from the Leaky Cauldron. A businessman from Germany found her dead in his bed with a thin wire wrapped around her neck. It’d practically been imbedded. The other case involved a possible accidental suicide of a teenager due to erotic asphyxiation.

Strangely, he wasn’t itching to get back to work even though it was his day off. Since Teddy moved in, it seemed as if his priorities had changed. It wasn’t a complete one-eighty and it hadn’t happened overnight, but for the sake of the boy who was his son in all but blood, he had decided it was time to reprioritize his life.

He sneezed as he opened the door to the owlery and stepped inside.

Lucifer trilled softly at him. Draco’s damnedable demon bird on the other hand squawked shrilly. Harry couldn’t tell if Ares was laughing at him or was yelling at him for waking him up.

“Hey, boy,” he greeted his own Demon Bird.

Lucifer preened under the attention while Ares squawked, turned around, lifted his tail and shit.

“Ha,” Harry barked as he danced out of the way. “Miss-! Oh. Ew.” A grimace scrunched his face.

Bopping his head up and down, Ares squawked. This time, Harry knew he was being laughed at because while in the process of removing his feet from Ares’ target zone, he’d stepped in a fresh pile on the floor.

“Et tu Lucifer?” He turned to the black as night bird who was laughing. “Et tu?”

Draco thought he was being ridiculous when he claimed Ares was deliberately targeting him, but Harry knew differently. And now the damnedable demon bird was corrupting Lucifer.

Harry eyed the eagle owl. It only made Ares squawk louder.

A soft hoot drew his attention to the third owl. Harry recognized it immediately. It belonged to Ginny.

“Hey, girl.”

Warily, he approached the large chestnut colored bird. Her beady little eyes watched him just as cautiously. His heart beating like a bass drum, Harry relieved the owl of its burden while keeping one eye on the sharp beak and the other on the even sharper talons. That he was able to take the scroll and step away without a scratch surprised him. He was certain Ginny’s owl would channel its owner and peck him to death.

“Now I know how the people I send post to feel,” he muttered as he unfurled the scroll as his heart rate returned to normal.

As if knowing he was being talked about, Lucifer peered across the owlery at him.

“’Harry’,” he read. “’I’m not promising anything, but I think it’s time we talk. Pick the time and the place and I’ll be there. Ginevra Weasley.’”

Gazing over the top of the letter, Harry looked at Ginny’s owl warily. She stared right back and hooted.

Unsure what to expect, Harry took a shaky breath and went into his office to write a reply. He honestly hadn’t expected Ginny to take him up on his invitation. That she had…He wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.

“Only one way to find out,” he murmured.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Malfoy Townhouse - London, England**

An androgynous house-elf appeared with a muffled pop in the foyer and bowed so low its long hooked nose touched the travertine tiled floor.

Draco turned from his examination of the formal sitting room that was just off the entrance hall. What he had decided to leave behind--mostly the bigger pieces--was being recovered with preservation charms by those house-elves not involved in the packing.

“We is being done Master Malfoy, sir,” the house-elf said.

“Good.” That was fast. Of course, he would expect nothing less from Malfoy house-elves. “Begin moving everything to Harry’s.”

“Yes, sir, Master Malfoy, sir.”

As the house-elf turned and ran off, Draco had an urge to cackle like those evil witches in those muggle fairytales Harry‘s godson seemed to enjoy. What Ginevra Weasley had not been able to do in the five years she and Harry were together, he managed to accomplish in under three months. Life was sweet.

 

* * *

 

 

**Half an Hour Later - Tonks Residence**

“Do you think it’s a good idea though?” Andromeda was asking Harry as the two sat at the kitchen table.

Sighing, Harry shrugged as he stared down into his coffee. “Who knows,” he answered truthfully.

“But you’re going anyway.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded in agreement. Lifting his head, he gazed directly into the eyes of his godson‘s grandmother. “I have to.”

“Alright,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “If you’re sure…?”

“I am.”

“Well then I wish you luck. You are definitely going to need it,” she added as pushed away from the table to dump her mug into the sink.

Draping an arm over his forehead, Harry pretended to faint and gasped, “You wound me!”

“I think you have been spending way too much time with my nephew,” Andromeda commented dryly as she turned from washing her mug.

Harry grinned widely. “Not according to Draco.”

“Oh, Merlin,” she groaned. “I did not need to hear that.”

Harry laughed.

“Which reminds me,” she muttered as she made her way back to the table. “Teddy! If you don‘t stop preening I am going to make it so that you can never preen again!”

Harry snickered.

“You are turning my grandson into Draco Malfoy II,” Andromeda accused with a critical eye.

A blushing Harry tried to defend himself. “It’s not my fault!”

Andromeda cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s not! I swear. It’s Draco! Blame him! I’m telling you, if I didn’t know he was in love with me, I’d be jealous of how much time he spends in front of the mirror and Teddy, well--He thinks Dray’s cool and--has sorta--taken to--ya know, imitating him.”

Andromeda continued staring at him.

Harry coughed.

A thunderous explosion of sound echoed through the house then. Both turned towards the kitchen door just as Teddy burst through.

“Hey, little man,” Harry greeted his godson as the boy climbed onto the bench besides him.

“Hi,” Teddy replied. Automatically, his brown curly hair and amber eyes morphed to match Harry’s raven locks and emerald orbs.

“Did you have a good time with Grandma?”

“Yup! We made s’mores.”

“Oo! Yummy.”

“Uh huh! They were so good. I had like a hundred!”

“You did?”

“Uh huh.”

Andromeda snickered.

They spend the next several minutes discussing what all Andromeda and Teddy did all weekend before Harry decided it was time to return home. Not only did Andromeda have a lot of packing to do still, but also Draco was probably waiting on them. He turned to the boy sitting besides him and brushed a hand through his hair. “Alright champ. You ready to go?”

“I guess,” Teddy muttered with a sudden crestfallen expression.

Harry heart broke at the dejected expression on the boy‘s face. “Hey. You know you can visit Grandma anytime right? But Grandma has lots of packing and a million other things to do before she moves in with Aunt Narcissa next weekend remember? And you, mister, have school in the morning and you still haven’t finished your homework.”

“Yeah huh,” Teddy protested.

“Oh really?” Harry cocked an eyebrow. “You finished everything? Including your math?”

“Yeah, well, maybe no. I think I finished most of it.”

“You think huh? Why don’t you go and get your stuff so we can leave okay?”

“Okay,” Teddy sighed.

A reluctant Teddy slid off the bench and began a slow march out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom.

“And no stopping to preen along the way,” Harry called out.

Andromeda muffled a laugh behind her hand.

“Aw!”

Harry laughed quietly.

A few minutes later, a misty-eyed Andromeda was watching as Harry and Teddy along with the five year old’s duffle bag and a box of assorted toys were squeezing into the small fireplace to floo back to Swindon.

“See you next weekend Andy,” Harry called over his shoulder. Before she could lob a protest, Harry had tossed the floo powder and called out, “Potter-Malfoy Residence,” before being enveloped by a bright green flame. When the flame died down, Harry and her grandson were gone.

Without warning, Andromeda found herself on the floor. She lifted a trembling hand over her mouth as she sobbed quietly. Her vision blurred behind a heavy veil of tears.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

A single tear wiggled loose and traversed down her cheek.

If given a choice, she would prefer not to die, but she had come to terms with her pending death.

She’s had a good life--a fulfilling life.

She’d defied her family’s extreme Pureblood beliefs in order to marry a Muggle. This had caused her to be disowned and burned from the family tree--until Harry became Lord of the House of Black that was. Her parents had mistakenly believed cutting her off from the family fortune would cause her to “see the error of her ways”. It hadn’t. Money cannot buy long lasting happiness. But Ted had brought it--happiness that was--to her for the first time in her life. He had been a loving devoted husband who hadn‘t cared that she could turn a mouse into a tea cozy. Together they’d had a beautiful daughter who grew into an even more beautiful woman who, like her mother, had fallen in love with a man many frowned down upon. Together they sacrificed themselves in order to ensure a brighter future for their son.

The only regret she had was that she wouldn’t be around to watch her grandson grow up, but she knew he was safe. Harry would be a good father to Teddy.

But just because she had come to terms with dying, didn’t make it any easier to face it head on.

Just knowing how heart broken her grandson would be by her passing was enough to break her heart.

 

* * *

 

 

**That Afternoon - Amelia R. Roschenwot Memorial Center for Reproductive Services - Devon, England**

Hermione was five weeks into her second trimester and she felt like a whale. Ron ensured her that she had never looked more beautiful. She hadn’t appreciated the implication that she hadn’t been beautiful before swelling up like a balloon. Ron had wisely changed the subject.

Instead, they began discussing the pros and cons of the bungalow in a small wizarding village not far from Durham versus the much larger house in Godric’s Hollow.

It had been decided that instead of building another addition onto the house where they now resided, much like what the Weasleys had done, they would move into a bigger place. Well, Hermione had decided and Ron had agreed after spending a few nights on the sofa. She had put her foot down and kept it there. There was no way she going to raise her children in a deathtrap. As much as she loved how welcoming and homey The Burrow was, like the stacks of documents in her office, it only remained upright by magic. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Molly was upset at the prospect of them moving out of the area. That they would only be a quick floo call away made no never mind to her.

Now, though, they were in the examination room of the Reproductive Services clinic waiting for the Healer. Today was hopefully the day they found out the sex of their baby. This would be the third attempt.

“I wonder…”

Her husband‘s voice broke into her thoughts. “Wonder what?” she asked over her shoulder. Ron was gazing at the wall of baby photos. Presumably, every baby in the pictures had been born thanks to the wonderful staff here at the clinic.

“What Ginny and Harry’s baby would look like.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ronald Weasley,” she hissed, “I swear to God that if you bring that up one more time I am going to make sure that this is the last baby you ever make.”

Ron gulped. That was no idle threat either. Hermione would do exactly that. Sometimes she frightened him more than You-Know-Who ever did.

“Harry and Ginny broke up three months ago,” she continued. “She’s with Corner and Harry’s with Malfoy. Deal with it and move on. This obsession of yours in not healthy.” It still amazed her that she’d been able to get him to focus on her long enough to learn about the baby.

“But ‘Mione-”

“But nothing! I am sick and tired of--of…everything! One more word, Ron, just--one--more, no matter how insignificant, and I swear by the Four Founders of Hogwarts that you will be petitioning the Wizengamot for visitation rights!”

Ron paled. “’Mione,” he breathed. She wouldn’t go that far would she?

“I get it,” Hermione continued in a softer, calmer tone of voice. “Corner was a stuck-up little prick in school and Malfoy was an arrogant, haughty, self-righteous, ferret-faced git and a Death Eater in training who made life miserable for us every chance he had.”

Ron grinned. He could not have described the two banes of his existence any better. “Exactly-!”

With a sad little smile, Hermione shook her head.

His face falling to confusion and worry, Ron asked, “What?”

“Don’t. Just…don’t. It’s time to let it go. Keep this up,” she continued, raising her voice over the inevitable protestations, “and you will lose everything. Everything, Ron. Harry, Ginny…me…the baby.” By the end, a sob chocked her voice off to a whisper. She didn’t want any of that, but at the rate Ron was going, it was unavoidable.

The door opened just then and Healer Jason Ambrose waltzed in. Sensing the tense atmosphere, the brilliant toothy grin vanished into a frown. “Is everything okay here?”

Hermione eyed her husband.

Ron was torn. He loved Ginny and he loved Harry, but he hated their choice of partners. Michael Corner was not good enough for his sister and Draco Malfoy certainly wasn’t good enough for his best mate. He despised both with a passion. Nothing would ever make him accept them.

But…

He supposed he could try harder to at least pretend to be civil to them. He could only pray that Ginny and Harry would come to their senses one day and realize what a huge mistake they were making.

He would try, for nothing more than to keep that miserable expression off his wife’s face. It was breaking his heart to know what he was doing to her.

Stepping forward to stand besides his wife, he gave the Healer a forced smile and nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. Who knew what would come spewing forth.

An answering smile on her face, Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Ron squeezed her hand back.

“Good!” Healer Ambrose exclaimed with his brilliant toothy grin back on his face. “Shall we get started then?”

As Ron watched Healer Ambrose help Hermione lie back upon the examination table, he couldn’t help but notice a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

A crash sounded through the house.

“Watch it,” Draco barked at the house-elves who were staggering under the weight of his desk. They’d carelessly banged it into the wall besides the staircase. The desk was a mirror image to the one up in the office. It also happened to be an antique purchased by his great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather.

“We is sorry Master Draco,” one of the struggling house-elves apologized.

“Put that upstairs in the office,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir, Master Draco.”

“And be careful! You damage it in any way-!”

With an eep, the house-elves and the desk vanished with an almost silent clap.

“Incompetent. Every last one of them,” he sneered.

A cascade series of thuds had Draco spinning around. Littering the foyer was a sea of stuffed animals. A giggling blond haired, blue eyed five year old jumped on top of the pile while a fidgeting house-elf watched on nervously.

Draco’s lips twitched in a threatening smile. “Theodore,” he called out to the boy. “This is neither the time nor the place. Put your toys into your room. You’ll have time to play later.”

“Okay! You heard Draco,” Teddy snapped as he jumped to his feet. “These go upstairs in my room.”

“Yes, sir, Master Teddy.” With a snap, the toys vanished. A second snap and the house-elf vanished.

Shaking his head in amused exasperation, Draco watched his lover’s godson run out of the house screaming, or was it laughing? It was so hard to tell when dealing with children. Crossing towards the front door, Draco watched as Teddy righted his navy blue Muggle bike, jump on and then tear off down the street. “Don’t go too far,” he called out. “We have to meet Harry for lunch in a little bit.” Why the boy preferred a bicycle, of all things, instead of a broom was beyond him.

“Okay!”

Draco stood there watching the boy wistfully and found himself wondering what a child conceived by he and Harry would look like.

 

* * *

 

 

**Same Time - Bean Sidhe Café - Bannum Alley**

Ginny had finally agreed to meet with him. They had a lot they needed to talk about, even though both had moved on. Ginny was with Michael Corner; they’d dated for a brief time back in Hogwarts if Harry wasn’t mistaken. And Harry was with Draco. Harry had suggested the Bean Sidhe Café in Bannum Alley. She’d agreed. Draco hadn’t. He’d whined, bitched, moaned, and threatened to withhold sex, of any kind, until Harry promised “compensation” for tainting what was supposed to be theirs with his ex.

Harry had argued that Bannum Alley was one of the only places in Wizarding Britain that would afford him and Ginny the privacy they needed. He was not at all comfortable going to The Burrow or Ron and Hermione’s house given that the Weaselys were still a little sore about his and Ginny’s break up as well as his “shacking up” with Draco. He was sure Ginny felt the same way about his house. They couldn’t go to Grimmauld Place because Harry had taken to renting the house out after the war and the Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow had been left as a museum--for now.

Usually, if Harry was in need of some privacy, he’d go out into the Muggle world, but it wouldn’t work in this case. While it would grant them anonymity, they would have no privacy for humans, by nature, were curious and nosy and Muggle or not, a heated argument was bound to bring some attention--for there was no doubt that any talk the two of them had wouldn’t remain passive for long. Diagon and Knockturn Alleys were out for the same reasons. Just substitute “muggle” with “witches and wizards”. That left Bannum where they would have all the privacy and anonymity they needed.

He just hoped Ginny actually showed up.

“Harry,” a soft voice called out his name.

Spinning around, Harry spotted Ginny heading towards him. All his nerves seemed to intensify a million fold at the sight of the tall, leggy redhead. Gulping, he hurriedly stood up. In his haste, his chair toppled backwards, falling to the floor with a loud clatter. Embarrassed, Harry righted the chair just as Ginny stepped up to the table.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted with a nod.

“Ginny.” For some reason he felt fourteen all over again. “Oh!” He circled the table and held the chair for her.

“Thank you.”

He returned to his own chair and tried to smile. He wasn’t so successful. He was too nervous. His insides felt like they were doing the samba. “So, uh…,” he faltered, unsure how to go about saying what he wanted to say. Harry wanted to make sure he said everything he wanted to say in a manner that didn’t leave the rift that had grown between them even wider. They might not have worked out as a couple, but he still deeply cared for her.

Either she sensed his hesitation or she wanted to get something off her chest before he had a chance to speak because Ginny sighed and said, “Look, Harry, let’s get something straight. If you called me here to ask me to give you a second chance-”

An image of Draco and Teddy flashed through his mind and his heart soared. This time, he smiled more easily. Shaking his head, Harry found the words tumbling out with ease, “I love you Ginny. I have since sixth year and I always will, no matter what happens between us, but--Things--I mean--I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. It was unnecessarily cruel and you deserved more than that and no offense, but despite how much I still care for you and even though there’s a small part of me that regrets what might have been between us, or what your family may want, I don’t think that we, uhm, that we-”

“-could work,” Ginny finished, “even if we wanted to try.”

Harry nodded sadly. “Yeah.”

Ginny was silent for a minute, staring out at Bannum Alley. “That was one of the hardest realizations I was forced to confront. That sometimes, no matter how much you care for someone, Fate has something different in store for you and there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening no matter how hard you try. If we were meant to be, I believe that no matter the obstacle, it would have worked out in the end.”

“But we didn’t.”

Ginny shook her head. “We just weren’t meant to be then.”

“Maybe we were,” Harry exclaimed suddenly.

Ginny turned towards Harry, suspicious.

“I mean, we were together for six years,” Harry explained. “Maybe that was how long we were supposed to be together. Hermione said you’re dating Corner, right? And I’m with Draco. Maybe Fate put us together so that we could find the ones we were truly meant to be with.”

Ginny frowned, thinking. When an image of Michael flashed through her mind, Ginny blushed bright red. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” Clearing her throat, she searched the dining room. “So where’s this waiter? I am absolutely starving.”

Remembering the last time he was here, Harry tossed his head back and laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

**That Evening - Potter Residence - 23 Pasteur Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, England**

With his hands clasped between his dancing knees, Harry scooted to the edge of the chaise longue and stared at the floating head of his best girl mate in the undulating flames. “So,” he drawled. “Did you or not?”

“Maybe,” Hermione teased.

“’Mione,” Harry whined.

Hermione giggled. “Okay. Yes. It’s a girl.”

“A girl? Really? Congratulations!”

A beaming Hermione could not stop grinning. “Thank you Harry.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Not yet. Ron was so adamant it’d be a boy that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of it being a girl.”

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. It was joined moments later by Draco’s deep chuckles and Teddy’s high-pitched squeals that floated up to the attic from the living room where Teddy should be finishing his homework. “That’s why I asked if you thought of a name yet,” he said, his emerald eyes twinkling in mirth.

“As a matter of fact,” Hermione said with a haughty air, “I was playing around with…‘Rose’.”

“Rose, huh. Cute,” Harry said after a brief contemplation.

Uncertain suddenly, Hermione bit her lip. “You think?”

“Definitely,” he confirmed with a nod.

Back to grinning, Hermione asked, “What about you?”

“Me what?’ Harry asked blankly.

“Kids!”

Harry blushed. “Maybe,” he confessed.

Hermione’s eyed widened to the size of golf balls. Her mouth popped open. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered in shocked amazement. “Don’t tell me!”

Harry blinked at her in confusion. “What?”

“Are you pregnant?”

The blush that had begun to dissipate was renewed instantly.

“Oh my God you are!”

“No! No! I’m not! Honest,” he added at Hermione’s look of disbelief.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Positive. Draco and I have been very careful about that.”

“So were we.”

For the third time in a short span of time, Harry felt his face grow hot. “But, I, uh…I wouldn’t--mind, ya know…”

A gentle smile crossed Hermione’s lips. “I do. Have you and Malfoy talked about having kids?”

With an identical smile, Harry shook his head. “Not really, but I’ve seen the way he looks at Teddy when he thinks I’m not looking, so…”

“Awe!”

Harry snickered. It was too bad Draco was downstairs. He would have loved to see the look on his lover’s face when he realized he was being cooed at. “So, is Ron-?” His inquiry as to the whereabouts of his other best mate was interrupted by the fire flaring brightly. “Oh.”

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

“Call waiting,” he deadpanned.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No, I’m serious. I have another floo call. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You better.”

Harry snickered. The fire flared again. “Tell Ron I said hi.”

“Will do. Give my love to Teddy.”

“Will do,” Harry echoed with a wide grin as Hermione rolled her eyes. Snickering, Harry reached forward and tapped the marble encased hearth with his wand. Hermione’s face blinked out of the flames only to be immediately replaced by a frantic looking Narcissa Malfoy. “Mrs. Malfoy? What-?”

“Andy’s been admitted to Saint Mungo’s,” Draco’s mother rambled without any preamble.

Harry flung himself up out of the chaise and onto his knees before the flames. “What?” he shouted in alarm and panic and a hundred other emotions. “Why? What happened?”

“I don’t--I’m not…sure. She was supposed to come over for dinner and when she didn’t show up I floo’d and saw her laying on the floor and--and--She’s stable for the moment, but…the Healers--they aren’t, I mean…”

Oh, God, no, he thought in anguish. “We’ll be right there.”

Jumping to his feet, Harry tore down two flights of stairs to the ground floor where he found Draco and Teddy wrestling in the living room. He wasn’t even breathing heavily, but his chest was tight and despite the glasses, his vision was blurry.

With Teddy trapped in an headlock, a grinning Draco glanced up from the noogie he was bestowing on the five year old and the moment his gaze landed on a white-faced Harry Potter, an alarm went off. Dropping Teddy, he strode forward and clasped Harry’s shoulders. “What?” he demanded. “What is it?”

“Andy…Andy’s been…”

“Is Grandma okay?” a small scared voice spoke.

Draco stepped aside giving Harry a full view of the five year old who looked to be on the verge of tears.

Harry gulped. How were you supposed to explain death to a five year old? Striding around Draco, he slumped down onto the antique Victorian straight back chair and held out his hands to his godson. “Come here, Teddy.”

Teddy slipped into Harry’s lap.

Harry glanced at Draco over Teddy’s head. Draco gave him a reassuring smile. “You know how we told you that Grandma’s sick?”

“Uh huh,” the sniffling five year old said.

“Well…”

With a little help from Draco, Harry tried the best he could to explain the situation to his godson: that the only mother he has ever known might very well not live through the night. Just because Teddy lost both of his parents and his grandfather when he a mere babe, did not mean he understood death. At twenty-two, Harry wasn’t sure he could.

By the end of what Harry was sure was a blundered explanation, not just Teddy, but all three of the males were sobbing out their grief.

Grabbing their cloaks, they piled into the fireplace and floo’d to Saint Mungo’s where they met Narcissa and Lucius. By the devastated expression on Narcissa’s face, it was not difficult to decipher that it was too late. Andromeda Tonks nee Black had already passed away.

 

* * *

 

 

**8 Months Later**

“Of course, we made the front page once again,” Harry was saying with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Just the day before, he, Draco and Teddy had gone to Diagon Alley for ice cream. Apparently, nothing of real importance was happening anywhere in the world. The daily comings and goings of what The Daily Prophet had taken to call “The Savior and his Family” was what evidently kept the world revolving around the sun. “Seriously. You’d think we were the Royal Family or something.

“Oh! And you were right.” Much to Harry’s dismay and frustration, which was quickly growing into irritation and annoyance, Teddy was indeed becoming Draco Malfoy II. As a result, it took him twice as long to get ready in the mornings. Draco found the whole thing amusing. Harry not so much. “I’ve threatened to take his mirrors away and make it so that he could never see his reflection in anything ever again, but…” He shook his head. “But then of course, he’s taken on a few characteristics from me as well. Draco claims he has my ‘atrocious manners’ and eats like me--well, the way I used to eat before this happened,” he amended with a wave at his engorged belly.

He really should have listened to Hermione. Nothing is one-hundred percent effective; not even wizarding contraceptives it seems.

“He also does this look.” Harry heaved a disgusted sigh. Whether it was intended towards his six-year-old godson or himself, Harry was not sure. “He used it just this morning after I threatened to take his mirror away if he didn’t get his metamorphmagus butt down to breakfast.”

_A small blond blur raced into the solarium and flew into a chair between him and Draco. Eyes just as stunning an emerald color as Harry’s sparkled up at him with unshed tears. Pouting and his jaw trembling, Teddy sobbed, “Please don’t take away my mirror.”_

“It’s the same damn look I’ve used on Draco once or twice.” Of course, if one was to confirm this with Draco, said man would claim to have been on the receiving end of that look quite a few times. If Harry were American, he would be forced to plead the Fifth on that.

Pausing in his monologue to take a sip of his juice, Harry took the opportunity to study the three headstones before him. Nymphadora Lupin nee Tonks and Remus Lupin had a shared gravestone. Next to theirs was Ted Tonks, Tonks’ Muggle father, and besides his was the newest one belonging to Andromeda Tonks nee Black. Bouquets of fresh flowers lay against all three.

His eyes misted and his throat constricted around a lump.

Clearing his throat violently, Harry blinked away the unshed tears and exclaimed, “Oh! I didn’t tell you! We’re having a boy. Can you believe it? Teddy is thrilled with being a big brother. Draco’s been strutting around like one those albino peacocks of his.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Bloody nuisance,” he added, though the corners of his lips twitched. “You know, as soon as we were told that no I didn’t the flu, but was pregnant, Draco started to demand an astrological name for the baby. I know it’s a Black family tradition, but still! I certainly couldn’t see naming my son Io. How about Lupus or Centaurus, Lynx, Lyra or Vega? Dear Merlin. They sound like names for characters in an MMORPG.” He shuddered. “Not that I have anything against astrological names, but some of them just aren’t appropriate baby names. Myself, I’m partial to James after my father, but Draco is adamant on Scorpius. We’ll see. Maybe if he’s lucky I’ll allow him to give James an astrological middle name.”

“How very considerate of you,” drawled a new voice from behind him.

Startled, Harry whipped around. Striding towards him was Draco. “Hey,” he greeted with a grin. “Where’s Teddy?”

Draco jerked his chin over his shoulder.

Leaning to the side, he peered around his boyfriend and saw Teddy chasing ducks around the pond.

“So,” Draco said as he sat upon a blanket he’d transfigured from a leaf, “have you told her about Moore yet?”

“Not yet,” Harry answered as he turned back around. He was leaning back with a hand behind him. The other hand was rubbing his thirty-week pregnancy belly. Ten more weeks and he would be able to hold his son in his arms. He wondered who he’d look like.

“Well,” Draco was saying, “Moore was named as the new Head Auror and Constantine was named as the new Assistant Head Auror.”

Harry had not been the least bit surprised.

The Auror Department has flourished under Moore’s administration as temporary Head Auror. The number of cases being closed had tripled. Even some of the cold cases had been reopened and subsequently solved; they were even considering creating a Cold Case Squad. Crime in general had been cut practically in half while the number of complaints being filed against the Auror Department had dwindled to practically nil. The riffraff, including incompetent and corrupt Aurors and other staff within the Department, had been weeded out. Among those fired were the group of seven Aurors who’d had Draco arrested that day in Knockturn Alley. Overall, it was a completely different Auror Department than it had been some six months ago. Harry even had some new recruits, as did many other divisions and units within the Auror Department. Many of these new recruits were volunteers.

As for Adelphos Constantine, the Auror who had questioned him after Pieletska’s stroke, the man was one of the best Aurors the Department had. Harry couldn’t think of anyone else to be named as the new Assistant Head. The man deserved the promotion.

“As Moore’s first act as Head, he filed formal charges against Pieletska’s Private Goon Squad,” Draco continued. He was, of course, speaking about the group of Aurors who arrested him for a murder that did not happen. It also turned that they were those so-called VIPs Sting had told him and Harry about mere hours before he was murdered--information subsequently confirmed by the year long investigation headed by Moore. “Among the charges I believe were conspiracy, murder, assault, battery, forced imprisonment, distribution of illegal substances…”

Harry nodded. “They’ll be going to jail for a very long time.”

“Good.” Draco’s eyes hardened into steel.

Knowing Draco was thinking of Sting, Harry sat up and laid a hand over Draco’s fist.

Draco’s gaze softened as it landed on him. Uncurling his hand, he turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.

Leaning forward, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s. Pulling back, he whispered, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Draco whispered back.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed suddenly.

He turned back to the grave of his godson’s Grandmother who also happened to be his late godfather’s cousin. Now that he thought about it, hadn’t Sirius and his father been cousins? He would have to check the Black or Potter family tree tapestries, but he was sure that he was blood related to the Blacks somehow. If it turned out to be true, didn’t that mean that he and Draco were related through Narcissa since Draco‘s mother was Andromeda‘s sister? Harry shuddered to think that he might have been related to Bellatrix. Well, he supposed if he and Draco did turn out to be cousins or whatever, it just meant that they were following Pureblood tradition. He had to laugh at that.

Draco began to look at him funny.

Harry ignored him in favor of trying to remember what it was he‘d wanted to say before his thoughts distracted him. “And it turned out that body they found in Hertford was indeed Potions Master Wilhelm,” Harry added.

Draco nodded. “Explains why we were never able to find him.”

“Yeah. Oo! Tell her about the fertility potion.”

Smirking, Draco turned back to the gravestone of his late aunt. “Well, the Wizengamot finally approved my petition to work on Wilhelm’s banned fertility potion and I have to say Wilhelm must have been going senile in his old age because it turns out what he made was nothing short of liquid Avada Kedarva. I mean any Potions Master should know never to place wormwood, seeds of a rowan tree or white bryony into a fertility potion! It‘s amazing anyone even survived ingesting the stuff.”

Scooting his large girth across the blanket, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and rested his head against Draco’s shoulder. “Speaking of babies, I’m sure you know by now that Hermione and-” he faltered at his best male mate‘s name.

The only time Harry saw his best male mate nowadays was at work, but their interaction was strictly work related. The only time it veered was when Ron congratulated him on his pregnancy. It saddened Harry when he thought about how distant the two of them had grown in the past two years. Ron just could not accept Malfoy as anything other than the sneaky Slytherin git from their Hogwarts days, not even for Harry. He saw Ginny socially more often than he did his best mate.

As Draco said, that was in the nature of being an adult. You grew up and your priorities changed. Suddenly, there were more important things to worry about than the girl giving you the once over from across the pub--ya know, the one with the skirt that barely covered her fine ass. Spending a nice quiet night in front of the fire with your significant other on a Friday night was preferable to going deaf at the new nightclub downtown.

Knowing all that did not make the hurt go away, though.

Shaking off the melancholy aside, for it wasn’t good for the baby, Harry continued, “Hermione and Ron had a baby girl. Hermione got her way and named her Rose. She is the cutest thing!”

Currently, with Harry’s emotions going haywire due to his pregnancy, there was no telling what the man would do to him if Draco were to mention the girly squeal, so he ignored it and instead added with a sneer, “Of course she has the Weasley red hair.”

“My mother had red hair.”

It was an old argument. Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, but she didn’t have the Weasley red hair, which is more orange than red. Your mother had true red hair. There is a difference. If I had a choice I would much prefer Lily red to the Weasley red.”

Harry beamed. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I have told you this how many times now?”

Tightening his hold on the father of his child, Harry smiled wistfully into the sky. Then the content expression fell into a pout. “I want a girl.”

Another old argument. “And you shall have a girl. Just not this go. Patience love.”

Harry tilted his head back to look up at Draco. “Promise?”

“Sure.”

Grinning, Harry settled back at Draco’s side.

“Teddy,” Draco called out, causing Harry to go partially deaf. “Leave the ducks alone and get over here and say hi to Grandma!”

“By the way,” Harry spoke up, “you know Ginny and Corner are getting married? She wants me to go help her pick out her wedding dress this weekend.” He rolled his eyes. Just because he preferred men over women and was pregnant did not mean he knew anything about wedding dresses. Did he look like a fashion expert? She would be better off inviting Draco.

Draco had gone still besides him at the mention of the wedding.

“Ginny and Michael Corner are getting married and they aren’t even pregnant,” Harry continued in a matter of fact tone. “Funny that.” Raising his head, he turned to look square at his boyfriend. “Don’t you think--Draco--Love?”

Going pale at the false sweetness, Draco gulped. It hurt. His heart was pounding. He was sweating profusely. Forcing a smile, he somehow managed to squeak, “I love you?”

His eyes narrowed, Harry opened his mouth-

“I was going to wait till our anniversary tomorrow,” Draco interrupted. He reached into his pocket. “But…” Fisting the object he found within, he held it out to Harry.

Blinking, Harry stared blankly down at it. It--was a ring.

“It is the Malfoy betrothal ring. A family heirloom,” Draco said. “Been in the family for generations. Notice the Malfoy family coat of arms engraved in the amazonite.”

“Yes. I see it,” Harry said with an unnatural calmness.

The green gemstone, which Harry now knew to be amazonite, was sitting in a setting of five swirling thin bands. He recognized silver, gold and copper, but the other two he was not sure about. There was a black band and another one similar in color to the silver band, but the hue was slightly different. And indeed, there engraved at the bottom of the amazonite was the Malfoy coat of arms. It had not been readily noticeable, but it was there for all to see.

“Wait. What?”

Draco watched in amusement as comprehension slowly lit Harry’s face.

With another one of those girly squeals, which Draco was not going to say anything about until after the emotional rollercoaster blew out of town, Harry launched himself at Draco shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Funny,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, which cause said man to shudder against him, just as Teddy finally made an appearance, “that’s what you said the night we conceived little Caelum James Malfoy.”

“And I’ll be saying it again tonight,” Harry whispered back between sobs, tightening his hold.

The promise made Draco’s cock stir to life. “Can’t wait,” Draco whispered huskily.

Harry laughed.

“Why’re you crying?” asked a small curious voice.

Still laughing, Harry pulled back and showed the boy the ring that had somehow found its way onto the ring finger of his left hand. He had no memory of how it got there, but he didn’t care. “Draco asked me to marry him.”

“Really?”

Draco cringed. There was that squeal again. “Why don’t you tell Grandma the good news?” he suggested to the six year old.

“Okay!” Teddy jumped to his feet and raced to his grandmother’s final resting place. “Hey guess what?”

“Thank you, Dray,” Harry whispered.

His heart skipping a beat at the nickname only his fiancé could get away with, Draco captured the hand caressing his cheek. “What for?”

“For everything.”

“In that case, you are very welcome.”

“Prat,” Harry chuckled as he leaned in for a kiss.

A short time later, the three of them were strolling out of the cemetery. Draco and Harry hand in hand with Teddy skipping along ahead of them.

“And to think,” Harry thought aloud, “this all started because you wanted to talk to me about a prenup.”

Draco chuckled. “Greatest advice ever.”

Harry rolled his eyes. No regrets, he thought. “Oh and by the way, it’ll be James Caelum Potter.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

As the two adults continued to bicker like children, Teddy giggled happily.

 

**…The End**

 


End file.
